


Between Who You Are and Who You Could Be

by riveriver



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Angst, Blackwater, Book: New Moon, F/M, Imprinting, Imprinting (Twilight), POV Jacob Black, POV Leah Clearwater, Slow Build, Slow Burn, So much angst, Twilight didn't deserve Charlie Swan, Wolves Rule Suckers Drool, a total fanservice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 105,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25005178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riveriver/pseuds/riveriver
Summary: (between how it is and how it should be). Seth is the only Clearwater to phase - but his sister becomes a part of the pack anyway. AU from Harry's death in New Moon.
Relationships: Jacob Black/Leah Clearwater
Comments: 135
Kudos: 302





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Usual spiel: I own nothing, don't want to, and glad of it. I think SM sucks. All that Blackwater groundwork she laid in Breaking Dawn . . . squished . . . I'll never forgive her.
> 
> Timeline (According to Lexicon):
> 
> March 16th: Harry Clearwater dies.  
> March 18th: Harry Clearwater's funeral.  
> May 25th: Bella learns about imprinting.

**Between Who You Are and Who You Could Be**  
(between how it is and how it should be)

* * *

_"It's one of those bizarre things we have to deal with. It doesn't happen to everyone."_   
_**Jacob Black, Eclipse, Chapter 5: 'Imprint'** _

* * *

_unwillingly mine / fate / up against your will_   
_Echo & the Bunnymen, "The Killing Moon"_

* * *

**prologue.**

* * *

_"Did it happen to you?" I finally asked, still looking away. "This love-at-first-sight thing?"_   
_**Bella Swan, Eclipse, Chapter 5: 'Imprint'** _

* * *

"Yes," he replies.

If Bella hadn't been sitting, Jacob's absolutely sure that she would have fallen. Maybe she still might. Maybe she'll topple straight off the tree and onto the wet ground where he's sat by her feet.

Once — _before_ — Bella's lack of balance would have made him smile. Throw his head back and laugh, even. Now it has him worried that she'll end up hurting herself, because she's proven to be real good at that.

He waits one minute. Two. Three.

Then, hesitantly, he clears his throat and looks up at her. "Bells?"

She takes a deep, gasping breath at the sound of his voice as if she's been holding it in. Then she scrubs at her face, wiping away tears which Jacob suspects begun to fall almost immediately after he admitted the truth. It's not as if he's been deliberately keeping it from her, but still he feels as if the last weight that's been holding him down has lifted from his shoulders. He's free.

"Aw, Bells." He reaches out for her, but he lets his hand fall when she flinches. "C'mon, don't cry."

"I'm not," she lies, turning her head away. "Really. I'm . . . I'm glad. It's good, right? I'm happy for you."

He doesn't believe her. Especially not when she chokes on a sob and wraps her arms around herself, exactly the way she used to after the bloodsucker had left her. The bloodsucker who had broken her into pieces.

But —

 _No._ It's not the same. He doesn't belong to Bella. He has _never_ belonged to Bella. Not even after he'd finally put her back together. Not when she had crashed her motorbike and called him _sort-of beautiful_. Not when he had saved her from the water. And certainly not when she'd run off to Italy after he had begged and begged her to stay with him.

He doesn't belong to Bella, because Bella didn't choose him. Maybe she never would have.

Either way, it doesn't matter. She won't have the chance now.

Jacob still doesn't know how he feels about that, not even as Bella squeezes herself and keeps her gaze fixed on the horizon.

It is a long while before she speaks again.

”When?”


	2. one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Bad language, funerals, grief and loss, with a heavy dose of drama, hurt, and a smaller dose of awkward romance. NOT canon, despite following the same timeline of events. Slow burn. Mature themes. Anti-bloodsucker, like always.
> 
> This happened thanks to being asked, "Okay so you've written what it might be like if Jacob rejected an imprint . . . but what if he hadn't?"
> 
> Challenge accepted.
> 
> (Truthfully, they probably meant something like "What if Jacob hadn't rejected Renesmee?" but, y'know, I have standards.)
> 
> Some chapters will be scenes/settings from both the books and movie!verse (and so will play out differently). There will also be 'missing' scenes. But it'll all have a different ending. AU from Harry's death in New Moon. It's also changed some since it was first posted, but I think we're set now.
> 
> All good? Great.

_set me free / leave me be_ _  
Sara Bareilles, "Gravity"_

* * *

**one.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

In the days since her dad dropped dead on the carpet and her brother ran away, Leah's seen more of Sam than she has in the past year. He is around _all the fucking time._ Whether she wants him or not, needs him or not — which she most definitely does _not_ — he is there.

And so it shouldn't come as a shock when she sees him sitting at the top of the stairs, but still she wills her heart into a less frantic beat as she closes her mom's door behind her and smothers her unease with a scowl.

"Don't you have anything better to do?"

It's her dad's funeral in less than two hours and they're late. On the other side of the door, Sue is catatonic on her bed — there's no other word for it, although at least she's been dressed for today. But struggling with her mom means Leah's not had a chance to pull a brush through her hair yet, let alone find a change of clothes. And Seth's not even _here_. If he was, he would have been sent downstairs an hour ago to clear the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom. It doesn't matter that Leah has done it three times over already when she couldn't sleep last night. The whole reservation is going to be here, probably half of Neah Bay on top of that.

Hell. She hopes some of them will bring food because she's not cooked a thing (that's what people do when this shit happens — right? It's what they did for Mrs. Black), but there's not enough cutlery and there's no beer or wine or soda. There's not enough chairs. Where is everyone going to sit when they're dying of thirst and hunger? _At a wake?_

"I'm here to help, Lee."

Leah pulls a face at her old name, tries not to wince. "You're not helping, you're just in the way," she tells him, but she sounds more resigned than spiteful. And she hates it.

Sam looks hurt. Leah almost feels guilty for it. She hasn't made him at all welcome in these last few days, and hurting Sam isn't in her nature, has never been in her nature, even if she hates him and hates who she has become because of him. But she holds herself upright and keeps her feet moving even though her legs are more than ready to give way underneath her. She can't take it back now; she's late. There is no time for Sam and his hovering.

"Sorry," he says quietly as he stands up and _finally_ gets out of her way.

She pushes past him and runs downstairs, ignoring that he's in a suit and his hair is tidy (and far too short), ignoring that he looks as if he's slept just about as much as she has. There are dark shadows around his eyes. He either doesn't care that he's being annoying or he's too tired to argue back, whilst Leah feels like she could scream. Especially when she hears him following her.

"Why are you still here? You've not been more than five minutes away from my family since— _"_ She can't say what she wants and harshly swallows the awful words. Instead she waves her hand at the front door which Seth broke three days ago as she passes it, gesturing wildly at the cracks in the frame rather than the carpet where her father had fallen. " _That."_

And she still doesn't know what _that_ was about. Where Seth went, what he had become. Well — she does. She'd seen it with her own eyes but she doesn't want to believe it.

"I'll fix that," Sam tells her, still barely two steps behind as she storms into the kitchen.

"I don't want you to fix it—"

"It's fine. It's not a problem, really—"

She spins round. Sam nearly crashes into her. "But it's not _your_ problem anymore, is it?!" she yells. To hell with being quiet. " _I'm_ not your—"

The noise which escapes Sam and cuts her words off is not entirely human. " _That's not true_."

It is, though. Him carrying her mom out of the hospital because Leah couldn't hold up her own weight, let alone anyone else's, doesn't make it less so. Him staying with her that first night, sitting up with her until dawn, seeing her through those worst hours hasn't changed a goddamn thing.

Leah means to scoff at him, because no, despite all of that, she doesn't believe him. Not after all he has done and put them through — put _her_ through _._ But her derision sounds a little bit off, a little broken, and she bites down on her lip to stop herself from giving anything more away.

He's a liar. If it were true then he wouldn't have left her. He wouldn't have walked away as easily as he did.

And it's not like he doesn't know how she feels. She's angry and sad and messy and exhausted all the fucking time. But then, it's not like she hadn't already been a mess before any of this happened.

Her life's defined by that word. _Before_.

* * *

 _Before_ , Leah had asked Sam if he could swing by her place. Emily was arriving in a few days and she was beyond excited to see her cousin-almost-sister; it was only natural that she wanted Sam to be there, too. Right?

All she wanted was a few hours with them all together. Her family. But only if Sam had the chance, because he'd been disappearing a lot lately and he'd suddenly become this sullen, unreliable person who she scarcely recognised. Especially after nobody had seen him for two weeks.

(Two weeks and three days, to be exact. Long enough to drive Leah absolutely, totally, completely insane. Long enough for Sam to gain a few hard lines around his face which she feared she would never be able to smooth out. Long enough that, when he had finally come home, she only recognised him by the way he'd pressed his scorching lips against hers by way of hello.

He always did that.

Dirty and exhausted, he had wrapped his arms around her and she'd felt him deflate against her. He'd almost brought both of them to the ground. And . . . she'd forgotten her anger. She forgot her despair. It was Sam, after all, and yet it wasn't Sam — at least, not the boy who she'd been missing for so long — but finally he had come home to her. He was alive, and as long as he held her like that then the world was a fine place to be.)

 _You don't have to if you don't want to,_ Leah told him quickly, because he flipped so easily nowadays; she'd said less which had him storming off in a rage. _It's just — I mean, they haven't visited for so long, and I'd really like you to be there. With me. If you can._

Sam looked so sad. After those two weeks and three days, he was always sad or angry or both. Then he said, _I've been kinda crap lately, haven't I, Lee?_

 _Yes_ , she admitted. She never lied. Not to him.

And Sam nodded, because he appreciated that about her. _Is your dad gonna be around?_

Leah blinked. _Of course he is. He's cooking._

 _Okay._ He cupped her cheek and kissed her head, the ghost of a smile on his face. _I'll be there._

* * *

This is not like when Mrs. Black died.

Leah will always remember those days after the accident, after the service. Her mom had cried and cried and cried, which she hadn't even done when her mom had died. She'd shut herself away upstairs, and Leah, Seth and their dad had lived on fish fry for a week because the man didn't know how to cook anything else.

After that, after losing her best friend in the whole world, Sue Clearwater had . . . drifted. There was no other word for it. There was a part of her missing — her right arm, her left leg, Leah wasn't quite sure.

Her mom recovered, of course. Eventually. But she was never really the same. She was harder. Fiercer. There was something within her which had broken and couldn't be repaired.

Sue is not drifting now. She's just . . . not there. She moves when Leah tells her to, she eats, she drinks, but otherwise she hasn't spoken. She hasn't cried, hasn't slept. She's not even said a word to Billy, who perhaps understands better than anyone here what she is feeling.

After it had happened, Billy was there. And like Sam, he's hardly left since. Neither has Charlie, or even the whole Reservation it seems. Everyone except Seth, and those who are still trying to coax him out of that cave Sam said he's hidden himself within somewhere far, far away. Somewhere instead of being here. His seat on the other side of Sue remains empty; nobody has dared to remove the reservation sign.

Leah doesn't care if they do. She doesn't care about any of them — not her tribe, not the elder, not herself. She doesn't care about anyone or anything except for her mom, who hasn't said a word since her dad's heart gave out and Seth ripped the front door off its hinges as he struggled to escape only moments after.

He hasn't been seen since.

Not on two legs, anyway.

It's not that she blames Seth. Her dad had never really taken care of himself like he really needed to. He'd had a bad heart since before she was born — since he was a kid himself. But her brother exploding into a fucking wolf in the middle of the living room hadn't exactly done any of them a favour, let alone her father.

Leah wonders where her brother is now, wonders if he's still there. She wonders who is looking after him, because the last time she saw him . . . She will never forget that look on his face right before . . . no, she won't — _can't_ think about that now. She'll have to face up to it soon. Just not now.

Not now, but after. After she thanks the elder, who is lamenting in Quileute about life, love, about death and despair. After she accepts his condolences, his wisdom, though she'll not understand any of it. She'll murmur in the right places, nod her head, try her best to remember what the old man says to her . . . even though she can't even remember whose family he belongs to. She's known him all her life.

What the hell is his name?

Leah looks around the congregation as if she'll find the answer in the faces behind her, but everything's passing in a blur and her attention is wholly elsewhere. It feels as if she's ten steps behind everyone else, struggling to catch up, her head foggy and body aching because she hasn't slept in two days.

Sam is two rows behind.

(Asshole.)

Beside him is Jared, and on the other side sits Emily.

(Bitch.)

Paul is there, too. At least that's something — that he's not watching over Seth, because Lahote isn't known for his sympathy, his kindness. Seth is petrified of the older boy. And yet . . . when Paul catches her dry eyes, his own look uncharacteristically soft.

She turns away from him. She can't bear more than her mom's sadness right now. She's barely managing her own.

That's not all of them, though. She recognises all of Sam's new cadre only by their short hair and their sharp jawlines, by the way their gigantic frames tower over everybody else even when sitting down. Everyone else who is not privy to the secret she has now been brought into.

Leah had thought that all the boys were on steroids when she'd first seen them. Before she'd known. They all look older, leaner. Even Jacob, who sits between Billy and Charlie with his head bowed, appears much older than his sixteen years.

Billy puts his hand on Jake's arm, and it has Leah wondering whether they are remembering the day they buried Sarah. Whether Jake wishes his sisters were here as much as she does.

Leah hasn't heard from Rebecca since a month after she got married, and she hasn't seen Rachel since before she started college. But she misses them, her sisters in all but blood. And she's angry at them for not being here for her, with her, like she has always been there for them. Leah's mom might need her, but she needs them.

When she finally looks away, everything seems to happen all at once. The tribal elder steps down, the pallbearers step up: her uncles Michael and Lucas, behind Jacob in his father's stead, and Quil in his grandfather's. At the back are Charlie and . . . Paul.

Leah sags. The relief she feels that it's not Sam holding her father up in these final moments is crippling. He was only holding her up not too long ago in her kitchen.

(It doesn't change a goddamn thing, she reminds herself.)

And yet, as soon as relief registers, it's gone. Fleeting, forgotten. Because it's not Paul or Sam who are supposed to be carrying Harry. It's Seth. Seth is meant to be where Paul stands.

She pulls her mom up, and they follow the coffin. They walk past the whole tribe, hand in hand, row by row, Billy trailing them. It seems as if everyone is here for Harry Clearwater, saying their final goodbyes, grieving.

As Leah and her mom pass the third row, Emily reaches out to her.

Leah pretends not to notice. She pretends not to notice the tears streaming down her cousin-almost-sister's face, or how Sam's hands are on Emily's shoulders. Holding her, loving her.

Asshole. Bitch.

* * *

The day of, Sam had stuck to his promise. He turned up as she'd asked, clean, shaven, and wearing his best shirt. Despite his sadness, his anger, that rage which Leah did not understand, Sam had a smile plastered on his face and was ready to stand next to her and hold her hand.

She loved him for that.

She met him at the door and kissed him silly. Her family were gathered in the backyard, waiting, though she wasn't bothered if they saw the way she ran her hands through his too-short hair, or if they heard the way he moaned against her lips.

Before long, Sam pulled away. He tapped her nose. _Behave_.

She grinned triumphantly — she loved the effect she had on him — and took his hand. _Come on. They're all here._

He squeezed her fingers and let her lead the way into the yard.

He left less than five minutes later. Leah didn't see him again for days and days and days.

Up until then, whether it was someone she knew or someone in a movie, Leah had always laughed at the person who played sad music because they thought it was genuinely speaking to their broken-heart and their broken-heart alone. Nobody else's, because the song had been written just for them and that moment.

She mocked the person who sobbed as they ripped up photographs of their ex-boyfriend.

She scoffed at the person who stared in the mirror, comparing themselves to another. The person who wondered what they were lacking that the other was not.

It was unbelievably dramatic.

Yet, the day after, there she was, in her room, playing the sad music. She ripped up photographs (and then burned them). She stared at her reflection in the mirror. And as her dad was yelling at her about fire and danger and _What the hell were you thinking!_ Leah realised with a hint of horror that she was that kind of person now.

She hated it.

* * *

She's the last to leave the graveside. She stands there long after her dad is in the ground, until others arrive with their shovels and wait for her to go.

He would hate it, she thinks. Her dad. He'd seriously hate all of it. The service, the crying, the way his family's life has come to a ground-breaking halt without him.

He'd hate that she's still standing here, waiting for something that will never happen, waiting for people to leave her house where they have gathered to mourn and pay their respects for just that little bit longer.

(She's still here because she can't face them. The groundsmen can cough and fidget all they want — she's not going anywhere. Not yet.)

But after that they'll leave. Probably when Billy clears his throat and makes some pointed remark about privacy. They will all leave and go get on with their lives.

Leah just isn't sure if she can do the same.


	3. two

_you think you know all about it / then it seems you are wrong_   
_Seafret, "Wildfire"_

* * *

**two.**

* * *

_(Jacob)_

The rows of chairs are filled with Harry Clearwater's loved ones. And where they cannot sit, they stand. They line the walls, the aisles, standing wherever they might be able to hear Old Quil's gravelly tones.

Jacob listens to every word. He doesn't remember much about his mom's funeral, but he will make damn sure he remembers Harry's.

He will remember arriving within minutes, if not seconds to spare. He was just in time to help carry the coffin into the hall, past the rows and rows of people, past Sue and Leah and the only empty chair in the hall which has been left for Seth.

(It had been a _Really Bad Idea_ to go and see Bella this morning. Embry and Jared had tagged along with him in the Rabbit to make sure that he didn't do something he would end up regretting, to make sure that he came back to the tribe who need him today.)

He will remember Leah holding her mother up without her brother, just as he holds his father up without his sisters. Billy is insistent that he will stand for his best friend when there are old Quileute songs to be sung. And so Jacob helps him to his feet each time and keeps him upright for as long as his father needs.

He will remember Charlie crying quietly on the other side of him. He will remember putting a hand on Charlie's shoulder to comfort him, knowing that things were only going to be a thousand times worse for the older man when he went home to an empty house.

(Jake had begged — _begged_ — Bella to stay. For him, for Charlie. That part, he does not want to remember.)

He will remember lifting Harry up and then lowering him into the ground.

He will remember Sue being picked up and carried by Sam, away from her husband's graveside with the Pack trailing closely behind, all the way to the Clearwaters' house.

He will remember Leah, her head bowed, refusing to follow.

And, above all, Jacob will remember the exact moment his heart stopped beating for Bella Swan.

* * *

Two days prior, after leaving a shivering and already near-dead Bella to face her fate with the bloodsuckers (who had reappeared out of who-knows-fuckin'-where, probably to try and shatter the last piece of her heart which he had spent the last several months trying to save), Jacob had sworn to himself that he would let at _least_ twenty-four hours pass before he went crawling back to her.

It was hell. But he'd suffered worse. And when he caught himself so much as looking in the direction of Forks, Jacob tried to remind himself over and over and over again that Bella had made her choice.

 _There's a vampire in your house, and you_ want _to go back?_

 _Of course,_ she'd replied.

Of course.

So he'd left her, hating himself. But treaty or no treaty, right or wrong, she had _wanted_ to be left even though she knew he wasn't able to stay with her. Instead he had sprinted back to La Push and he'd let Sam know that the leeches were back. He'd told Sam that if Bella got bit then they all knew who to blame.

And then he'd called her.

(That did _not_ count as crawling back to her, Jake told himself, but he'd needed to know if they'd taken a good chunk out of her already. Because that meant _he_ could finally take a chunk out of _them_.)

He half-wished she'd never answered. She sounded . . . different. Alive. More than she had in months, actually, and it had made Jake feel so sick that he'd slammed the phone down and retched into the kitchen sink. He'd barely gotten out of the house in time before shedding his skin, barrelling into the shared pain and anguish of the Pack as they mourned Harry with their newest brother.

As if things hadn't been bad enough.

He'd spent that evening, and that whole night, unsuccessfully coaxing Seth out of the cave the kid had found solace in. Then, he went home and cleaned the garage from top to bottom — all before the sun rose. And when he was done with that, he yanked out the Rabbit's seven-week old timing belt just so that he could keep his hands busy by fixing it. And when he was done with _that,_ Sam came looking for him. Jake was almost surprised that it had taken the bastard as long as it had.

 _I need to get back to Sue's,_ said Sam flatly. He was not at all sympathetic about the latest rejection Jacob had faced. Then again, the Alpha's patience had long since reached its limit when it came to Bella Swan and her love for the bloodsuckers. _You're back in charge of Seth._

Jacob simply stared at Sam as he tipped his toolbox upside down. He tried not to seem too pleased with himself when hundreds of nuts and bolts found their way into the deepest corners of the garage. It would take _ages_ to tidy up.

_I'm busy._

Neither had he slept yet, and his eyes were burning.

 _Unless you want to help Leah peel her mother off the floor, then you_ will _look after her brother, Jacob. He is_ your _brother now too, and he needs our help._

As Sam spoke, the hard tremor of the Alpha's voice slipped through the cracks. Levi Uley's great-grandson made a conscious effort to not challenge Ephraim Black's great-grandson if he could help it, and in turn, Ephraim Black's great-grandson tried very hard to not fight the authority he had refused to accept for himself. Anything else usually ended in bloodshed.

But, right then — while his brothers would have long since ducked their gaze — Jacob's heart was thundering with rage, misery, topped with a little bit of something else familiar, and he could not help but glare right back at his Alpha.

It was in his blood. Jake's wolf reared at the challenge Sam presented every single day. And every single day he leashed that animal inside of him and refused to give in. He would never give in. He would never be Alpha.

That was what made him look away, in the end. That was what always made him look away.

(Once, a few days after his first phase when the Pack had all been adjusting to the new dynamic, Jacob had challenged Sam's authority without even thinking about what he was doing. It was an instinct he'd not known he had, and so Sam had beaten his ass into the next week until that new instinct had been all but extinguished. Until Jacob had yielded.

It was still there, though. It would always be there.)

Jacob scowled and, hating himself for it, while hating Sam for everything else, he put down his toolbox before stomping out of the garage and back to Seth's cave.

* * *

There aren't many people left at the Clearwater's place.

Old Quil excused himself early, taking his moody grandson with him. Although Quil is way more than simply _moody_ to those in the know — he is _fuming;_ he still believes his best friends have turned their back on him to join Sam, after all, so there's been a permanent scowl etched into his face all day. But he's also hot to the touch, so Jake knows that his best friend's anger will not last for much longer.

It's not that Jake wants Quil to phase, it's just things are going to be _so much easier_ when he does. It's not as easy being hated by a loved one as Sam makes out it is.

Sam knows all about being hated. Nevertheless, he's still here, flanked by Jared and Kim — not Emily, who had fled as soon as the service had finished. Meanwhile Paul is out swapping Seth-sitting duties with Embry.

Charlie is still here, too. Jake had very quickly and very quietly told Billy what was going on as he'd wheeled him away from the graveside, and they've both been trying to keep Charlie with them for as long as possible since. He'd never forgive them if he knew, but Billy and Jake remember how Charlie had been the last time Bella skipped town.

It's only when the Pack are beginning to help tidy the house, clearing plates and glasses and boxing up the food that Leah finally comes home.

Jacob looks up, and his world just . . . _shifts_ a little.

It's almost as if the earth has titled a fraction of a degree — not enough for anyone else to realise, but enough that Jacob is left feeling as if the wind has been knocked right out of him. He reaches out to hold onto the back of his father's chair so that his legs don't give way beneath him, holds so tightly that he's probably made a new shape out of the handlebars.

Leah's wet eyes blink at him from where she's appeared in the doorway. And after regaining her focus, she gives him a funny, tentative little smile. It doesn't look right on her pale, tired face; it's forced, a little bit mangled, and yet Jacob just _knows_ what's she trying to say — what she really means. That twisted quirk of her lips tells him that she's not okay, but she's trying to be, because what else can she do?

He knows that look. It's one of his own.

When he doesn't smile back, Leah's face slowly falls back into a picture of exhaustion. He knows that look, too, and it's not even because the legends demand it must be so. It's because he and his sisters looked exactly the same when their mother died.

Another second passes, and Leah sticks out her bottom lip ever so slightly. She probably doesn't even know she's doing it. Then she sighs and walks away, further into the house, away from him and his thundering heart.

A shift. A fraction of a degree different.

And nobody's noticed a thing.

* * *

_Please, Bella. I'm begging._

_Jake, I_ have _to—_

_You don't, though. You really don't. You could stay here with me. You could stay alive. For Charlie. For me._

Bella shook her head when the leech revved the engine. She pulled her arm free and he let her go.

_Don't die, Bella. Don't go. Don't._

Bella sobbed and threw herself at him, hugging his waist and pressing her tears into his burning chest. Jake held the back of her head, keeping her close.

 _Bye, Jake._ She pulled away after only a moment, kissed his palm. She wouldn't _—_ couldn't _—_ meet his eyes. If she had, he thought, she might have stayed. Because he knew her better than anyone else, knew how to break that resolve of hers, that thinking-too-hard look. _Sorry,_ she said.

Jacob left before she did.

* * *

Leah's in the kitchen, gripping onto the edge of the old breakfast bar and breathing hard.

Her head snaps up at the same time as her defences, eyes hard and her brow set. It takes longer than it should, longer than he'd like, but eventually she closes her eyes again and drops her head, dismissing him as a threat. Her long, loose hair falls around her and hides everything else.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I thought they'd be gone by now," she says from underneath her dark shield.

Despite himself, despite this new . . . thing, Jacob is smart enough to keep his distance and stay near the door. No matter how sad she is, no matter how angry, no matter how much he wants to reach out. He likes to think that he'd have to check himself and his instincts to comfort her without having imprinted — his human instincts, not wolf — but he can't say for certain. And he hates that.

He's changed so much that he barely recognises himself lately. Changed so much, lost so much. And this one thing was the last bit he had of himself, the last shred of free will, but now he's surrendered that too. It's not just Sam who rules his life now.

He knows it's the imprint talking when he can't be mad about it. The imprint is quelling his resentment and masking it as something else entirely.

"Can you—" Leah takes a shaky breath. Somehow she seems to stoop a little lower to the floor despite holding onto the counter as if everything depends on it. "Can you ask them to—"

"Sure. Will you be—"

"I'll be fine. I just need him — them," she quickly corrects herself, but Jacob knows who she means. "I need them to go."

"I get it." He really, really does. And he can do this. He can. He can walk away and do whatever she needs, even if it's only to go back and tell them all to hurry up. He'll clear up the last of the food himself, wash plates and pick up the rubbish so that it's one last thing she has to do right now. And if she asks him to leave too . . . Well, he'll try.

"Jacob."

His wolf sings, turning him back without a thought. "Yeah?"

"Are you . . . Do you . . ." Leah pushes herself away from the counter and waves a hand at him, looking a little ill. There are shadows in her brown eyes which only he has a hope of understanding with both his mom and Harry gone. "Y'know. Are you the same as Seth?"

"Yeah."

"And Sam?"

Shit, Sam. Sam's going to fucking kill him.

Sam's looked at all of his brothers at some point and wondered what he'd do if any of them imprinted on his ex-girlfriend. They'd all seen the underlying panic, had felt their Alpha's fear as if it had been their own.

(That's just the way things are now. Their pain, his pain. Their joy, his joy. Sometimes Jacob dreams of Emily on top of him, dreams of Kim holding his hand.)

Only when Jared imprinted did Sam's breathing seem to loosen slightly, that pressure easing. But it hadn't meant they'd forgotten being aware of how Sam had hated them when he'd looked at them, even if had been for just for a second.

Yes, Sam's going to kill him. But Jacob steels himself and says, "I really think he should be the one to tell you that."

The words pain him to say, almost as much as it does to think about leaving her on her own for the rest of the night. He knows it's not really Sam's responsibility to divulge this secret — at least, not anymore. It's his, whether he likes that or not. But he's not ready for Sam to rip his throat out just yet. Not today. Not ever.

"He tried," Leah admits quietly, pushing her curtain of hair back from her face. Her fingers are surprisingly steady compared to the rest of her. "I think. I don't know. Lots of people have tried to do something, say something today. And I didn't really let them."

"I can ask him to—"

"No," she says too quickly. Her eyes flare with sudden life as quickly as it dies. "Not him. You. You tell me."

They stare at each other a moment, which is all it takes for Jacob to relent. His shoulders drop. "Yeah. Sam's the same. Jared, Embry and Paul, too," he tells her, aware that he's only confirming everything she already knows, everything that she's probably already thought. It's just nobody has said it aloud to her yet.

Leah nods, but she doesn't look away. "No girls?"

"No."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Jake admits. It's not like he's not thought about it. He'd been scared for his sisters, but then they hadn't been home in forever so there was nothing to worry about, was there? And none of the other girls on the Rez seemed to be burning up or had to duck when they went through a door, so it wasn't likely.

"Not Emily?"

"She's . . ." God help him. "No. She's not."

Leah doesn't look like she believes him, scoffing as she finally turns away and reaches for an empty glass on the draining board. She turns the tap on with a bit more force than necessary. "Is my mom upstairs?"

Jake's about to tell her that Sam carried Sue all the way back here and put her to bed when Sam himself appears, as if called. Jake can feel his Alpha at his back, that disapproval which seems to radiate off him all the fucking time.

"Jacob," Sam says, voice hard. Of course, he's heard every word his Second and Leah have said to one another. "You've no right."

Very slowly, very deliberately, Jacob turns round. He's exactly the same height as Sam, unlike the rest of their brothers who are all an inch or two shorter. Maybe if he were Alpha he would be taller, but since he refuses he's going to have to settle with being able to stare right into his brother's eyes rather than down into them.

Sam's frown deepens. There's that disapproval.

"Who are you to tell him what he can and can't do?" Leah demands from behind him, but neither Jacob or Sam look at her. They hold each other's stare, and Jacob vaguely thinks that he needs to stop his hands from shaking, stop his whole body vibrating in response to the challenge Sam will always present. He won't phase, can't phase, because if he phases then Sam is going to know exactly what he's done.

It's that thought which makes Jacob break first. He always breaks first. He ducks his head and steps to the side, allowing Sam to pass.

"Save it," Leah says in response to whatever she sees in Sam's face. She pushes past him, stalks past Jacob, and disappears upstairs.

Sam instantly rounds on him. "What have you done?"


	4. three

_there's still a fire in my heart, my darling / but i'm not burning for you  
Rhodes (ft. Birdy), "Let It All Go"_

* * *

**three.**

* * *

_(Sam)_

If there was one female in the world who could be a wolf, Sam thinks, it would be Leah.

She stalks around her bedroom, kicking off her shoes and shrugging out of her dress as she goes, looking absolutely feral. Her long, black hair swishes behind her with every movement, grazing the small of her naked back, wild and untamed as the rest of her.

He stands just beyond the threshold of her room, but she doesn't shut the door, doesn't slam it in his face. Because that would mean that she has to acknowledge him, which she has so very pointedly been trying not to do since she'd prised herself away from him in her kitchen earlier that morning. But she knows he's there, of course, and parades around her room in nothing but her mismatched underwear with a type of anger he's only just begun to learn from this side of the fence. There's a line between them now, which has done nothing but grow since he left her.

He's not stupid. He knows everything he had with Leah is dead with no hope of revival, because he will never betray Emily or the imprint. That, and Leah would never take him back even if he were somehow able to refuse fate. She's too stubborn and will never, ever forgive him. This line will just keep growing and growing. But she's in on this now. Minus a tail, she's all but part of his pack of ragtag teenagers.

He hadn't ever considered or entertained the idea of her knowing his secret. He'd resigned himself to a life of murderous looks from her, the tribe behind her and forever whispering behind his back. A life of people looking at Emily as if she's a homewrecker and as if he's no better than his father.

Then fourteen-year-old Seth had phased unexpectedly. It had been a miracle that he'd shredded the carpet and the door rather than his family, from what Sam has seen from the kid's mind.

Harry and Sue he would have been able to deal with. Harry is — _was_ part of the Council. With Billy and Old Quil, Mr. Clearwater had been the one to sit him down and explain everything after he'd phased for the first time. Sam would never forget it. And, naturally, Harry didn't keep things from Sue, who had Uley blood and seemed to know everything about everyone anyway. But Leah . . .

"Jacob shouldn't have told you like that," Sam says to her back. Jacob knows it, too. He'd sloped off without so much as a word, hadn't even bothered to defend himself after Leah had pushed past them. Sam is still undecided on whether that was a wise decision or not, but he'd not pushed it. Later. He'd deal with it later, like everything else he's put on the back burner.

"At least he _has_ told me," Leah snaps back. "Which is a lot more than I can say for _you_."

Then — with no misguided illusions about what she's doing, he's sure — she bends down and bares her ass to him as she roots around in her bottom drawers for some pants. The glass of water which she's brought from downstairs threatens to topple over on top of her dresser with the force of slamming drawers.

Of course, Leah doesn't know that what she's trying to do isn't working. It will never work.

It's strange to be so unaffected by her now, compared to a time when he would have grabbed her hips and held her close. Now the wolf inside of him barks in protest with what it sees and forces his eyes elsewhere . . . but all the things in this room are a stark reminder of everything the wolf tells him is _Wrong_. Everything here is from the last three, four years of his life. Everywhere he looks calls to him with familiarity. He's climbed through that window, slept in that bed . . .

He trains his eyes on Leah's bare feet as they move. The imprint is only somewhat mollified — it won't settle until he's back with Emily, but he's got no choice. He has to be _here_ , not _there_. He has to tell Leah how important all of this is. It's his responsibility.

"Because you have done everything you can to not have that conversation," Leah continues, her voice rising with every word. "But it's over now, he's in the ground, gone. It's done. So whatever you're waiting for . . ." She huffs angrily as she shimmies into threadbare shorts, the kind she lounges around in whether the sun's out or not. "It's _done_ ," she says again.

Sam looks up, and she's staring right at him, eyes blazing.

He sighs, relenting after half a minute. He runs a hand over his tired face. "Please put a shirt on."

"Bothering you, is it?" She puts her hands on her hips, subtly jutting her chest out.

"Please, Lee. Today's been hard enough. I wanted to wait 'til all this was over."

Leah barks a laugh, a hard, unkind and frustrated sound as she turns away and reaches into her wardrobe and yanks a t-shirt off its hanger. She's a whirlwind in this space, moving so fast that once upon a time he would have had a hard time keeping up.

"Things were hard before," she says. "You didn't tell me then. You don't get to decide for me. Not ever."

He has never decided things for her, but he doesn't remind her of that. He's unused to this rage she has. He knows it's all because of him and losing Harry, maybe because she's had to deal with all of this without her brother, but still he struggles.

"If I want to know, Sam—" she spits his name "—it won't be on your terms."

That straightens his back. "It has to be on my terms."

This is the Alpha talking, not Sam Uley, not his imprint.

"You think too highly of yourself," Leah utters scornfully.

"There's rules, Leah. I need to keep everyone safe." Anything else is unacceptable.

"Why's it your responsibility all of a sudden?" she demands, pulling down her shirt and immediately reaching for her hair. "Why are you suddenly deciding who can and can't know what? Telling Jacob what he can and can't tell me? The legends might be true — _fine_ ," she concedes at his look. "They _are_ true, but you're not Taha fucking Aki, Sam."

He takes a deep breath, one, two. Her words sting, but she's not to know about the fight he and Jacob are having every single day. He's all but killing himself holding onto something that Jacob doesn't want, something that he's offered to Jacob more than once, and although Jacob has refused he has been subconsciously challenging him for it every single damn day since he phased.

"I'm the leader of this pack."

Leah rolls her eyes with a snort as she ties her hair back. "Pack."

"Yes, Leah. Pack. Which Seth is now part of—" she flinches at her brother's name, the only slip in her otherwise fiery facade "—whether you like it or not. You weren't meant to know about any of this, but now you do, and I've got to work around it."

"Sorry I'm such an inconvenience," she snaps.

He can't help the roll of his eyes. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Do I?" Leah flicks her high ponytail over her shoulder. It brings out the sharp lines in her face more than ever. "This morning was a mistake," she tells him, finding her resolve again. "I won't be so _inconvenient_ again."

"God, Leah. You're not an inconvenience!" He throws up his arms which are in danger of shaking — he's letting his temper get the better of him. "I just meant that not everyone can know about this!" he hisses. He's mindful of who is left downstairs. Most who came back to the house have left, but there's still keen wolf ears and Charlie Swan and who-knows-who else.

Leah scowls. "I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's all you're worried about. I think everyone who I might have wanted to tell knows anyway. One of them is in that room." She points over his shoulder. "So if you'll excuse me."

He has to tell her more. He's not going to get away with keeping her in the dark, knows that things are only going to spiral that much more out of control when she finds out the rest, but maybe — maybe hard truths can wait. He didn't want to do this today anyway.

"Fine." He moves out of the way. "I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I go."

"Back to Emily."

He wants to say yes — yes, Emily, always Emily, but knows no good will come of it so simply nods his head and watches as Leah takes the glass of water off her dresser and disappears behind her mom's door with it.

* * *

That morning, he'd caught Leah as she'd crumpled to her knees in her kitchen. She'd fought him, at first, telling him over and over again that she was not his problem, sobs wracking her body as she cried her protests and obscenities until they finally dissolved into something which had her gripping the lapels of his ill-fitting suit. So he'd held on to her, because it was the break he'd been waiting for since that first night after he'd brought her and Sue back from the hospital.

He had known that Leah would rather cry in the confines of her kitchen with nobody else to hear her rather than in front of her father's coffin with an audience. He still _knew_ her. That was why he'd pushed her too far. He had let himself into her house before she'd gotten out of bed and had followed her around all morning, pushing and pushing.

Leah had always been tough. But she'd become a little rough around the edges since he had left her on Third Beach and broken her heart. She worked differently now.

 _Is this about college?_ she had asked that day. _I know I've been a little nervous, but it's only because—_

 _It's not. I'm not going to college anymore. I can't._ He couldn't even leave the Rez without his skin itching, almost as if reminding him of what _—_ who _—_ he was leaving behind unprotected. _I know you don't understand. And maybe you won't ever understand,_ he'd said, almost to himself as he stared above her head, anywhere but her already tear-stained face. _I'm still having trouble with it. But I know I don't feel the same anymore. **I'm** not the same._

_Nothing's changed—_

_It has. Everything has. I'm sorry._

He'd repeated that same word to her on the kitchen floor as he had on the stillness of Third Beach. _Sorry._ _Sorry. Sorry._

It hadn't made anything better. It would never make it better, no many how many times he said it. To Leah, to Emily's scarred and lovely face. To his brothers, who understood just as much of this new world as he did, though he did his best to pretend otherwise. Sometimes it even worked.

Since Harry had died, Sam had found himself treating Leah as pack because she resembled his brothers so much. Her anger at everything, the sharp bite to her words. He'd reached for her a few times, if only to check that her temperature was normal and that her heart rate was steady. But she was still Leah. Mostly. Thankfully. She didn't feel warm to him, like only Emily and his brothers did these days.

Eventually she'd wormed herself out of his arms, had stood on her shaky legs and pushed him away. She'd swiped erratically at her wet, flushed face and muttered that she needed to get ready.

_We've got a while yet, Lee._

_I'm late_. _I've got to get ready,_ she'd mumbled again. _Leave me alone._

He'd not really left either her or Seth alone since the kid had phased and hidden away. He wouldn't make it to the funeral. Hell, Jared had taken three days to get himself back on two legs. Sam was almost sure that Seth was going to take even longer.

 _Please go,_ she'd then asked quietly, and he hadn't been able to help but remember that she'd asked the same of him on Third Beach. Maybe she had remembered, too.

* * *

Only his pack greet him when he jumps the last stair, anger fuelling his every move.

Except for Jacob, whose eyes are still downcast, they look at him and wait to be told what to do next. They all can't help but listen, though, to Billy and Charlie who are talking in quiet whispers on the other side of the door. The door which is still broken, courtesy of Seth.

Sam makes a note to fix it next time he's here. "Everyone else gone?" he asks the room.

"Jacob herded them all out," Jared says.

Sam's gaze turns on his tallest brother. He can't admonish him, he supposes. Leah _had_ asked him to clear the house — they all heard her. "Good. You should tell Charlie about Bella before he goes home, Jacob."

Jake grunts noncommittally. Hell, Sam needs to get better with his directives. Jacob is always finding loopholes.

"Go and tell Charlie. _Now_ ," Sam orders. He makes for the living room, not waiting to watch the boy slope off. "The rest of you, come and clean this up. I'll do the kitchen."

He can feel all of them behind him. Embry's hunger, having not eaten since before he'd left to watch over Seth. Jared's longing for Kim, the imprint still so new compared to his own with Emily. And, somewhere far away, Seth's heartbreak and Paul's frustration. Probably because he's babysitting. Then there's Jacob's . . . whatever _that_ is. Jacob is a total freakin' mess. He's all longing and uncertainty and sadness and confusion and nerves. It spills over with his misery and angst over Bella fucking Swan.

Always Bella fucking Swan. A skinny pale wreck of a thing, nothing but a walking nightmare of complications, and always, _always_ undoubtedly the source of any kind of pain Jacob was feeling. But she's not Sam's problem anymore, because the leeches are back. Well — one of them. But the rest are sure to follow, of that Sam has no doubt. He'll soon have more than Seth phasing to worry about — half of his pack will be thirteen, fourteen-year-old kids before he knows it when the leeches come back to Washington in full force.

Not if. When. The certainty has been constantly nagging him at the back of his mind since Jake brought him up to speed, all the way through the service. And the fact is that, _when_ the leeches come back, the pack will have far too much territory to cover. On its own, the boundary line defined by the treaty — the single line between their land and Leech Land — is fifty miles long. Fifty miles for six of them.

As if the redhead isn't enough. As if Quil being a second away from becoming a new weight in Sam's heart isn't enough.

Because Sam can feel Quil, too. The sensation is like an itch he can't get to just yet, his anticipation steadily building. He'd wanted to crawl out of his own skin by the time Jacob had finally phased. Quil won't take as long.

Sam listens to Embry and Jared as he moves about the kitchen, hands busy as he contemplates everything. It sounds like they're eating everything in sight, but at least they're clearing up. Sort of.

"C'mon, man," Embry says around a mouthful. "You just saw her four hours ago!"

Jared grumbles, but whatever he's feeling only raises a similar yearning in response within Sam's own chest. _Emily, Emily, Emily._

It had taken more strength than he'd had to watch her walk away from the service and back to her little house — her grandmother's house, once, and now his too, he guessed. He spent far more time there than anyone else, barely went home to his own mom who was incoherent more than half the time. He only went back to pay the bills, to make sure there was food in the fridge. And that was only because Emily told him to. He would never have bothered otherwise. His mom has long since made it clear that he reminds her too much of his father, and she wants nothing to do with him. Especially since he's gotten a name for himself on the reservation by leaving Leah and all but moving in with her cousin.

Sudden yelling from outside lets Sam know that Jacob has done his job and told Charlie who his only child has run off with.

"Sounds like trouble," Jared mutters. He seems hopeful, though. As if it might get him back to Kim that more quickly, and that hope only jumps higher when an engine revs not too long before Billy is being wheeled back into the house by Jacob. Sam meets them in the hall, the kitchen clear of any evidence of a wake being held.

Billy sighs. The lines on his worn face seem deeper. "Good thing you didn't say anything about Italy, son. That girl is going to be the death . . ." He lets his words fade and glances warily towards the ceiling, where he knows Leah and Sue are. "Well," he says gruffly. "You know."

But Jacob's not listening, it seems. He stares up at the same spot on the ceiling as his father, his hands tight on the handlebars of the wheelchair.

Longing and uncertainty and sadness and confusion and nerves.

Sam frowns. What is _that_? "Jacob?"

"Are they asleep?" the boy asks, still looking up.

"Doubt it," Sam says. He would know. Their breathing might be even but Leah's not slept for more than two hours straight since Harry died, Sue probably even less so.

(He _has_ to get Seth home as soon as possible.)

Another sigh from Billy. "Let's leave them for tonight, kid. C'mon."

Something even Sam can't quite catch flashes over Jacob's face, pulling at his mouth. "We'll come back tomorrow?"

"Sure, sure."

Jake looks reluctant, but eventually jerks his head and starts wheeling his father out. Maybe it's because he's lost his mom, maybe it's because he needs to jump on another crusade to keep him busy whilst Bella is probably getting her throat ripped out. Sam isn't all too sure. He's hardly ever sure when it comes to Jacob. Too many problems, too difficult to even try and pick apart. Whatever this is, though — it's in danger of turning out to be yet one more problem.

Which, undoubtedly, will become _his_ problem, too. It always does. Emily and these ragtags are all he has.

"You're with Seth tonight," he reminds Jacob before he leaves. "Take over from Paul at ten."

And for once, Jacob only nods. No questions, no defiance, no snappy retorts.

Definitely a problem.


	5. four

_oh brother, we'll go deeper than the ink beneath the skin of our tattoos / though we don't share the same blood, you're my brother and i love you / that's the truth  
Kodaline, "Brother"_

* * *

**four.**

* * *

_(Jacob)_

Jacob and Paul handover wordlessly. Sometimes it's better that they don't speak; they might be brothers, but their dislike for each other has reached new heights since Jacob took over as Sam's Second.

When Jared had been in the position by default, Paul was close to assuming it for himself before Jacob turned up. Not long after that (less than a day, in fact) Jacob had been offered the top spot, and when he'd hastily refused it Sam insisted that he at least take on second-in-command instead — if only because they all knew that anything less wouldn't have soothed Jacob's unbearable need to _take take take_.

Fucking bloodlines.

So Jared had stepped down, all too happily accepting Third instead, meaning that Paul's nose had been pushed further out of joint. It gets under his skin something fierce, that he'll never be given the chance to flank Sam's right side. It has his grey wolf loping off with a disdainful snort, refusing to look back.

Jacob lets it slide, wishing that the world was as easy-going as Embry as he usually tends to do when his most volatile brother is around, and he sits down at the mouth of the cave. The kid's in there, somewhere, whimpering and shivering. He can almost feel Seth's bones rattling, and knows that it's not from the cold which he cannot feel.

"Hey, kid."

Seth lets out a low whine into the night.

"Don't worry. Just figured you could do with some peace and quiet, is all," Jacob lies. The peace and quiet is for him, not for Seth, who is undoubtedly listening to the mindless hum of Embry's thoughts, the angry tint of Paul's. Poor kid. At midnight Jared will take over from Paul, and after an evening of having Kim underneath him he will probably make Seth so sick that it might even force a phase.

Here's hoping.

Jacob stretches his legs out over the uneven ground. Paul will probably rat him out to Sam about being on two legs the first chance he gets — not that any of them know why, though they will soon, and he's undoubtedly seven kinds of dead when they do. He won't be able to get away with not phasing for long. Soon he'll have to take a patrol or the redhead will show up again or Bella will come back with blood-coloured eyes . . .

It was an odd feeling when he'd told Charlie about her taking off with Alice. Like he'd cared, but not really — at least not like before, because his heartbeat is different now. _Le-ah, Le-ah, Le-ah_.

It's all wrong. He'd had a _plan_ with Bella, which is ruined beyond belief. He's imprinted, and she's been whisked away by that pixie of a leech. She's probably dead already. The thought of which doesn't have him pieces like it once would have. It doesn't have his heart in his ass like it was when she threw herself from that cliff.

Well, shit.

This imprint has sealed more than just his fate. Because whatever Leah chooses, _whoever_ she chooses, whether that's him or Sam's ghost or even nobody at all, Jacob's got about as much luck of turning his back on her as Sam's got of leaving Emily for her. And Bella . . . well, she can't have made _her_ decision any more clearer to the world than she has. She's not the type to pick herself, even Jacob knows that; it would have always been him or the leech. Now it's just the leech — that's the only option she'll see with him out of the picture. Being with a leech, becoming a leech.

Jake wonders whether he'll be able to look Charlie in the eye when he's forced to kill her. If the leeches break the treaty . . . if Bella becomes a threat to the reservation — to Leah — then she'll have to die. Again. He's got no choice.

The rational part of him knows that thinking like this, even considering it is not right. Bella is still human — for now. She is his father's best friend's daughter. She is _his_ best friend, and he loves her. Granted it's not in the same way anymore. Whatever he felt has twisted and morphed and bent into a love like the one he has for Rachel and Rebecca, but _still_. It's not right.

Or is it? The other part of him, the imprinted wolf part, vividly imagines tearing Bella's head off and howling victoriously.

It's sick, yeah. But if it ensures Leah's safety . . .

Jacob tears at his hair, his two bodies in a battle of wills, painfully conscious of the fact he's steadily losing sense of what is right and wrong. Maybe it's already gone.

Seth whimpers.

"S'alright, Seth," he replies with a ragged breath. "I'm alright." He straightens his back, if only because he knows that his other brothers will be able to see what Seth sees. "How are you doing? No. Scratch that. Stupid question."

A huff from the darkness.

"I know. Sorry."

Jacob pulls his knees up. He's just about settling in for a long, long night ahead of him when he hears Seth inching closer, crawling along slowly on his belly until he can be seen properly — at least by Jacob, with his new ability to see and smell from miles away. He's still adjusting to these heightened senses.

Seth's not quite at the cave's entrance, but it's closer than he's been since he scarpered into it. From here, even in the dead of night, Jacob can see the kid's tangled sandy-coloured coat and the hot breath escaping from his long muzzle. His paws are freakin' ginormous, nevermind the rest of him. He's like an oversized colt with shaggy hair, unsure of his footing.

"You need a haircut."

Seth bares his teeth.

"Yeah, I know. It sucks. I cried like a bitch when Sam cut my hair off." It had been his pride. "But you'll rip it out when you run and it'll hurt."

Seth holds Jacob's eyes as he lowers his head to the ground, in between those massive paws. He's trembling.

"Bet it feels like you'll never stop," Jacob tells him. He holds up his hand. "But it does, see? The shaking. Unless you get mad and lose control . . ." His hand drops. "That'll happen a lot. It gets better. Phasing back for the first time is the hardest bit."

The most important bit, as well as the hardest. It's the one time that an Alpha can't force a phase, because the body hasn't learnt how to do it yet. It's why Jared took three days to fall back on two feet and why Seth's been here for nearly as long. Thankfully he didn't go too far out. After he'd taken off he had mostly run around in circles, whereas Jacob had passed Sacramento his first time. Regardless, nothing else can happen until Seth decides that he's ready.

Jacob believes he's ready, though. He's got an extra pair of shorts because he's so sure of it.

This is the third time he's sat with the kid, the first time that he's not tried to coax Seth out mind-to-mind. It's a lot harder than he thought it would be, but he's going to hell if he lets Seth, of all people, hear his mind as it is right now.

"S'pose the guys have all been imparting their own bits of wisdom since I last saw you, huh?"

Seth huffs again at that, but Jake continues anyway. "Just take a breath, kid. Shut your eyes and tune them out. Think about what you want to do, what you want to be instead of focusing on what you _don't_ want to be. The rest will follow."

The sandy wolf keeps staring at him, body vibrating.

"It's alright. It'll come to you, I know it."

* * *

Eventually it does. An hour or so later, the wind is whipping at Jacob's ears, bitingly cold to somebody who might be able to feel it, when Seth's form on the rocks starts blurring. He's trying to phase, willing himself to shed this second skin. He whimpers and whines, grunts and growls, but — there, there's the patch of skin Jacob's been waiting for. It's quickly consumed with fur again as he coalesces back into his wolf, but Jacob will take what he can get. It won't be long now.

There's nothing worse than an audience than somebody blathering on pointlessly to fill the silence. Jacob can't do much about the first part, so he keeps quiet and occasionally turns his eyes to the moon, acting as if he's got all the time in the world.

As if something's not calling him to go back, to leave his post and—

It's fine. He'll wait.

* * *

Another hour. Two. More skin, appearing and disappearing, taking longer and longer each time until finally, finally Seth is sprawled face-down and naked on the rocky ground, gasping for breath. Jacob is at his side instantly.

Far in the distance, howls immediately fill the air. Embry and Jared. They'll wake Sam and Paul, though they don't care about that. They're happy, and Jacob lets himself smile even as Seth moans from underneath his blanket of wayward hair.

"Hey. Hey. You're fine. You did real good, Seth. Real good." But he needs to keep the momentum going, keep himself in the here and now, so Jacob says, "Come on, up you get. You'll catch a cold." Not likely. "Come on."

He wrangles Seth into the pair of shorts he's brought with him and stands him on his unsteady feet.

"My fault," the kid mumbles over and over through his clacking teeth. "All my fault."

"Hold on to me. We're gonna walk, 'kay?"

"It's my fault."

"Seth, focus." It's not quite an order, but Jacob is Second and Sam's not here. He doesn't like doing it, but he can force what he needs if he decides. Seth needs direction. "Work with me," he says more gently. "One foot after the other. Easy does it."

Seth's knees wobble with effort. "I can't."

"Sure you can." Jacob pulls Seth's arm up and over his shoulders, and slowly but surely Seth starts walking. "Good. Let's go."

It's a only a two hour walk south back to the reservation. Now is as good of a time as any to start Wolf 101. And with every passing mile, "It's my fault, all my fault," turns into questions as Seth is drawn back to reality. He asks about his mom, Leah. Then Sam, and Paul, all of his new brothers.

He never asks about Harry.

* * *

" . . . giving us the runaround since, but I think she's caught on that the others turned up. Well — one of them at least. We haven't picked up a trail for a few days," Jacob explains as they walk through the reservation. Seth is walking on his own now. "She'll be back, though. Probably."

"Because she wants to eat Bella."

"Yeah. Mate for mate, or something."

"Which wasn't the leech with the dreadlocks you said you killed."

Just over two weeks ago. It feels like two months, two years even, not mere _weeks_. He had emptied his guts afterwards until there'd been nothing left and it'd not just been because Bella had been a hair's breadth from piercing, venomous teeth.

"No."

Seth nods. He's getting it now his head is his own again. "Do you think she'll come back? Bella? I mean . . ." He looks a bit awkward, and Jacob realises that the kid thinks he's got his pants in a twist over her still. After all, he hasn't heard any differently. "I wouldn't come back, if something like that was after me."

"If she survives whatever it is she's gone off to . . ."

 _There's a very good chance that they will eliminate us all,_ the small and strange leech had said very casually to Bella. Too casual for his own liking. _Though in your case it won't be punishment so much as dinnertime._

"Then yeah. She'll come back."

Things will either become exponentially harder or easier when she does. It doesn't feel like there will be an in between. There never had been for him with Bella.

Seth frowns. "But she'll bring back all the other vampires when she does."

"Yep," Jake replies, lips popping.

"But that . . . _that's so_ _unfair!_ " Seth suddenly explodes, and despite himself Jacob takes a few long strides away from the boy who has begun to blur around the edges.

He splays his hands in surrender as Seth takes deep, gulping breaths, his body heaving. Jacob's own heart starts thundering at what might happen — at what _could_ happen. "Seth. If this is too much . . . If you can't deal, then you can't go home, okay? Not yet."

The idea of Seth exploding too close to Leah . . . Jacob can't stomach the thought. And Seth doesn't know that Jacob's now bound by some stupid sacred law to retaliate if Leah's ever hurt.

He's not sure he's got the stomach to kill her brother — his brother, now, too.

"What if I can't . . ." Seth's looks at his trembling fingers with undiluted horror before crossing his arms and burying his fists into his armpits. He swallows audibly and squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to regain control. "Jake, I might not be able to stop."

"You will. You won't hurt anyone." _You can't. Because if you do I'll have to hurt you._

"But . . ."

"You're fine, kid. Trust me." Jake crosses the distance and slings his arm over Seth's shoulders, pulling him close and ruffling his tangled hair. "You got this."

Seth cracks an eye open. He doesn't look like he believes him. Shit, Jacob doesn't believe himself, but he's gotta try.

"Well. Perhaps more night won't hurt, though, y'know? There's no shame in it. I've got a hammock in the garage."

Seth glances at the house across the road where his mom and Leah are sleeping. It's several minutes before he shakes his head, all of which Jacob feels like he's holding his breath.

"No. I can do it."

The kid will probably break if he thinks nobody believes in him, so Jacob says, "Alright," and does his best to sound more sure about it than he feels.

They walk along the pathway, through the door and up the stairs without incident. The door really needs to be looked at. It's not like anyone will try and break in; La Push tribal Officers have a near-perfect crime rate — _zero_ , especially since the most temperamental boys (Paul) have phased — but still . . . Jacob's nerves are shot to pieces as it is. He doesn't need to be worrying about an unlocked door to his imprint's house.

At the top of the stairs, Seth looks back and forth between his mother's and sister's doors.

Jacob clamps down on a rising challenge — it smells like Sam up here — and says quietly, "They're fine."

He chances a glance at one door in particular anyway, listening closely. It would be so, so easy to wedge it open and . . . What? Whisper her name, and freak her out? Yeah, no. She'll see the dirt Seth has trailed through the house soon enough. Until then, Jacob will let the kid sleep for a few hours before his family comes crashing down on him.

"C'mon, kid. Sleep time."

Seth doesn't move. "It was today, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

What little light is left in Seth's eyes vanishes. "I missed it."

"Yeah," Jacob says again. It's all he can say.

"They wouldn't show me. The others." Seth's shoulders drop impossibly lower. "Every time they thought about it, they stopped."

Another one of Sam's finest Alpha Orders. Not. But Jake doesn't tell Seth that. "It would have upset you. We had to get you back," he explains instead, pushing at Seth's back and herding him into his room. He doesn't want to answer anymore questions in the hallway, lest they wake Leah and Sue up. From the looks of them at the service today, the look of Leah when she came home, she and her mom have been getting even less sleep than the pack. "C'mon."

"What was it like?" the kid asks after Jacob's forced him to lie down on his unmade bed — which, Jacob can't help but notice, smells like Leah, as if she's lain upon it at some point in the last few days.

"Jake?" Seth prompts.

"It was . . ." Jacob tries not to breathe in through his nose and thinks of Sue's vacant eyes, of Leah's face at the graveside as she'd watched her dad being lowered into the ground. She'd not looked away, not even as her mom had been carried away by Sam. "Nice. It was real nice, Seth. Old Quil held the service."

"Did anyone read? My mom?"

"No. But your sister picked a poem, which Old Quil translated."

"Which one?"

Jacob blows a breath. The kid's clearly not going to get some rest until he knows. "If I tell you, will you go to sleep?"

Seth immediately shuts his eyes, and Jacob almost smiles. "Okay," he says then. This is the reason he'd paid such close attention, after all — not because he can barely remember his mom's funeral, but because he'd felt the weight of Sam's Order in his chest as Old Quil had droned on and on and he knew that it hadn't been fair. He hadn't wanted Seth to feel the same way about his dad's funeral as he feels about his mom's. That it was slowly being forgotten.

"Okay," Jacob says again. He has a wolf's memory now. He sits down on the carpet, his back against the wooden bed frame. "Do not stand at my—"

"Can you do it in Quileute?" Seth whispers. "Please."

Jacob tilts his head back to the ceiling and looks at the sunlight from outside which is starting to creep across it.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep," he begins again — in Quileute, this time. "I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain, the gentle autumn rain . . . When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush — of quiet birds in circled flight, the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die."

Seth is quiet behind him, but Jacob can hear the tears that are there.

"She picked good," Seth says, his voice hoarse.

"Yeah. She did."

Seth falls asleep pretty quickly after that, but it's five minutes or so until Jacob is able to force himself to his feet and leave. Force himself to put one foot in front of the other as he had urged Seth to do, because it's the only way he's going to get out of this house and get Leah's scent out of his head before he does something that will be out of this world kind of stupid.

But she's there. Sitting just by Seth's door, head against the wall with her legs crossed and looking straight up at him. Her ponytail hangs limply to the side, loose and messy as she tilts her head and wisps of her hair fall over her face like she's been tossing and turning. A suspicion only confirmed by the way her shirt is crumpled and riding slightly up her back, exposing the smallest stretch of smooth skin. And those goddamned shorts she's wearing are—

Out of this world kind of stupid.

"I didn't hear you," is all Jacob can think to say, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Hairspray."

He gapes at her. Shit, shit, shit. "Huh?"

"For the hinges," Leah explains like it's obvious. "Stops them squeaking. Haven't you ever snuck out before?"

"No." He can't stop looking at that patch of skin. "But I guess it explains why Dad never caught Rach and Beck."

Leah snorts with the barest hint of a smile. "Who do you think bought the hairspray? _I_ didn't."

(He bets his sisters didn't think of spraying it over their doors, though. That's all Leah.)

"Was this around the time they turned my room into their hair salon?"

"Yeah. Think so," Leah replies absently. She turns her head and peers through the doorway, over her shoulder and at her brother who is now deeply asleep.

Jacob stares at her bared neck as she stretches round, stares at that tempting column of her throat which tests what little he has left of himself.

"Is he okay?" she asks, voice uncharacteristically soft.

Jake tears his eyes away, but meets her own when she turns back. "He will be. What about you?"

"Have to be." She shrugs and begins idly wrapping her ponytail around her wrist. "Thank you. For bringing him back. I wasn't sure . . ." She stares at the loop of her dark hair and runs her slim fingers over it. "You know."

"Sure. No problem." It vaguely registers that this is the part where he should leave. This is the danger zone, not so much the point of no return but pretty fucking close to it. Yet he can't pull himself away, can't help saying, "Hey, Leah, I—"

"Are you hungry?" she asks suddenly. "I'm hungry."

"I . . . Uh," he starts lamely, but she's already on her feet and waving at him to hurry up. "Okay, then."

He shuts Seth's door before he follows.

Out of this world kind of stupid indeed.


	6. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: In attempt to keep characters and backstories laughably canon (if you ignore the obvious), there are some unmarked direct line lifts from New Moon and Eclipse. Not mine, obviously.

_nobody teaches you to hurt like this  
James Bay, "Slide"_

* * *

**five.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

Knowing that Seth is upstairs, finally home, safe and sleeping, has put Leah's world into focus a bit. She pulls eggs and milk and orange juice from the fridge with new fervour, and silently begs that this new resolve of hers will last long enough to get her through the morning. She needs answers. There are things she still doesn't understand, other parts that she doesn't even know about — yet — and she'll be damned if she's not going to learn so she can help her little brother through this.

She hadn't pushed for answers with Sam. She'd asked a few times, of course — where he'd been, why he was gone all night, how could he be so exhausted all the time? — but he'd gotten so angry with her that she'd shut her mouth and let him be. It had been the wrong thing to do, all things considered, but she's not going to make the same mistake again. By the time Seth wakes up, she is going to be ready.

She steels herself before looking over her shoulder at Jacob. "Drink?"

He shrugs his indifference from the archway, his hulking frame seemingly taking up every inch of it. He might be as big as Sam, but his huge presence is . . . _different_ , somehow.

Maybe it's because, unlike Sam (though he _could_ have been . . .) Jacob is family. Maybe it's because she doesn't hate and love every inch of him at the same time. She's grown up with Jacob, after all, and whilst they might not have spent as much time with each other in the last few years he's always been around in one way or another. His sisters used to be her closest friends (so much so that she used to pretend they were _her_ sisters); their moms were best friends and their fathers were brothers in all but blood. They've spent Christmases and birthdays and spring breaks together, spent days and days running across the reservation. And when they were much younger, Sarah used to look after them all while everyone else went to work.

Or perhaps it's something else, yet she can't think what exactly. Not when his eyes are on her like that, burning holes into her. Even after she turns back to the fridge she can _feel_ him watching her every move, staring as her hands skirt around all the wrapped dishes of casserole and lasagne and stews in the fridge which seem to have appeared overnight.

"You and Billy can have some of this, because if you think I'm eating _that_ for a month . . ." She pulls a face he can't see and shuts the white door. It all makes a poor substitute for her dad's fish fry, but maybe when her mom returns to some semblance of living she'll try and perfect the recipe . . . Maybe. "I _hate_ casserole."

Jacob doesn't answer, doesn't move.

"Lasagne is okay, I guess," she babbles on, "but I'm gonna have to drain the stew to freeze it and it'll be a real pain in my ass. So . . ." She sets two glasses on the breakfast bar and shrugs at him. "You might as well just take it."

They hold each other's gaze. Hers searching, his burning. She doesn't know this Jacob. He looks like a stranger these days: awfully short hair, no shirt, bare feet, fierce features, dark circles under his weary eyes. Is the kid she used to shove into ditches and dare to eat worms still in there? She hopes. Will she feel the same about Seth? Is he the same person or—

No. She can't, won't think about it. Sam is gone, her dad is dead, and the Jacob she knows from years ago has all but disappeared. She will not be able to stomach losing Seth, too.

Leah nods towards a chair, trying to swerve off that dark road of thoughts. She will _not_ lose Seth. Ever. "You can sit down, you know. Before you fall down."

Jacob blinks. His face seems to clear a little bit and he squares his shoulders, looking almost like he's walking to his execution as he forces himself to move and takes a seat in one of the rickety kitchen chairs. She might have smiled if he didn't look as bone-tired as she feels or as miserable with the world as she is, sagging in the chair like that.

"You look like shit," she tells him.

His laugh is quiet, barely there. "Thanks," he mutters, and rubs his hand over his face as if to clear the shadows lingering there. "I'd ask for coffee, but it wouldn't have any effect."

Good, she thinks as she wordlessly pours a glass of juice and sets it in front of him, because she doesn't have any.

Jacob's hands immediately reach for it, his long fingers brushing each other against the cool glass as he studies it intently for a minute. Two.

He breaks the silence first.

"You have questions," he says. She thinks that he almost sounds resigned about the interrogation which is undoubtedly about to follow, as if he knew all along what she was really asking before she got to her feet on the landing.

"Only a few." It's a lie; she feels like she'll burst if she has to spend another day not understanding the whispers around the Rez. The secrets which Sam knows and won't tell her. "If you don't mind."

Jacob keeps his eyes on the glass and carefully asks, "What do you want to know?"

All of it. Every detail. The whole story.

"The truth," she says at once. "I want — I _need_ to know everything."

He looks unhappy about it, but nods.

"Do you swear? No bullshit, or no breakfast."

It takes longer than she likes, but eventually Jacob mimes crossing his heart and flicks three fingers up in a mock salute, as solemn as can be despite it. "Scout's honour," he promises, at which Leah rolls her eyes. She can't help the distrust she knows is plastered all over her face, even as a wan smile crosses his. "I swear."

It's as good as she's going to get, she supposes, but still she's dubious and it shows.

"Honest," he adds.

Fine. "Okay. How long have you been a . . ." She waves a hand as she turns her back, only slightly mollified. "You know."

"Werewolf?" Jacob snorts from behind. "You _can_ say it."

"Fine. Werewolf." She directs her scowl at the egg shells. "The legends always said 'shifter', but if that's what you prefer," she replies haughtily.

"Think I prefer their version, actually," he mutters. "Hollywood didn't get any of it right. _Nobody_ did. It sucks." The sigh which leaves him is long, a drawn-out and frustrated sound for emphasis before he changes the subject. "What are you making?"

"Uh." Leah stares downward at the mess she's already made. She's cracked five eggs without reason. "Omelette, I guess. A really big omelette. Or I can do pancakes instead if you'd like."

"Whatever you want."

"Pancakes," she says without thinking. She cranes her head round. "What do you want?"

The question seems to stun him something stupid, and it doesn't sit well with her. All he does is stare at her again, clearly struggling to find his words.

"Or does Sam make those decisions for you too?"

Jacob doesn't answer so she waits, her eyebrows raised in a silent question until he finally relents with a huff and looks back down at his hands. "Pancakes are fine."

Leah doesn't believe him — since when did it become so hard for him to choose for himself? — but opens a cupboard and reaches for the flour anyway. "So. Why does it suck? You seem to be pretty good at it. Seth likes you."

Of course, Seth likes everybody. But she'd heard them on the landing. The sound of Seth's heartache had almost had her throwing her door open. She's still unsure why she stopped herself. And then in his bedroom . . .

"I didn't want to upset him. It gets ugly if we get too angry and lose our temper."

Leah chances another look over her shoulder. "Does that happen a lot?"

Jacob scowls, unhappy again. "Too much. I've only been at this for what, like a month now? Billy keeps threatening that the next pair of shorts I lose will be my last and that I'll have to go around butt naked."

Leah thinks about the shreds of fabric from Seth's clothes which she'd picked up after getting home from the hospital. "Please don't."

"I can't help it. It's a little better now, I suppose," Jake allows, albeit begrudgingly, "but it's still hard. It probably always will be."

Leah frowns at that. Before he'd . . . _exploded_ , Seth had been more snappy than usual. Just like Sam, she thinks. It's easier to see now, to realise how similar things had been with her boyfriend and then her brother, but she's never thought to compare the two of them before. To think that Seth is going to be worse, and she's going to have to be as careful with him as she was with Sam . . . It's going to drive her insane.

"The first time it happened to me . . ." Jacob's voice dips. "We haven't exactly been kept in the dark, you know? I mean — you know the legends as well as I do. We've grown up with them. And Billy had been dropping hints for such a long time . . . Honestly, I thought I was going to have him committed."

"How did he know?"

"Same way we should have noticed Seth was close. But he's too young — _nobody_ expected him to phase, and we weren't watching. We've been waiting for . . . Anyway, I guess everyone just assumed Seth was hormonal or whatever, having a growth spurt and being a teenager."

 _"We're_ teenagers," she reminds him, even though she _had_ thought that.

Jacob laughs, bitter and cold over the sound of the whisk. "Right."

"We are. I mean, sure, you don't look like one. You're all . . ." She gestures limply with her free hand. "You know. It's not like someone's going to card you or anything."

"Right," he says again, but at least there's less bite to his tone this time. There's even the dimmest light of humour in his eyes. "I'm not driving out to Forks and getting you a bottle of vodka, if that's what you're asking."

"Nope." She tries not to sound too smug. "I don't get carded. Tried it a few weeks ago."

Not without effort — she'd had to dress up for the occasion, show some skin, bat her thickly covered eyelashes an obscene amount of times. But it had worked. The bottle of tequila and pack of smokes are still underneath her bed, stashed with the too-short skirt she has only ever worn to prove a point.

"Huh." Jacob has that weird look again, the one that's a little close for comfort, one that she's not used to coming from someone other than Sam. But Leah stares right back, a challenge and a question in her eyes as his rove over her body, down her neck and along her hips. It's half a minute before Jacob meets her gaze and, seemingly remembering himself, quickly averts his eyes.

"Anyway," he says after another moment, his voice rough and unapologetic. "Age isn't the issue. Won't be for a long time, I guess, not until I figure out how to quit."

It's Leah's turn to give him _her_ look, then, the one that she's quickly perfected in recent days and says, _Explain_ , even though it's never worked.

But it has more of an effect on Jacob than it's had on Sam, and he tells her about not ageing. About looking twenty-five-or-something for the rest of his life unless he can gain enough control to stop phasing. And he really, really wants to be able to stop, because longevity is nine kinds of wrong and doesn't wanting it make him no better than the bloodsuckers?

Fork deep in batter, Leah purses her lips. "It sounds kind of nice, I suppose," she says eventually as evenly, as carefully as she can, even though she can think of nothing worse. "Not having to face your own mortality."

"If you can get over outliving your family, friends," he counters in a similar tone. Careful. Leah doesn't have to guess why. It feels like everyone is being overly wary about acknowledging death since her dad's heart gave out.

She refocuses on breakfast and says, "You'd have long enough to see the world. _Really_ see it and—"

"Nobody to see it with."

"—you'd be able to go back when it changes, to see it all over again . . ."

"Sounds really boring." Jacob sighs. "I like — I _liked_ my life, Leah. All of it. Even the crap stuff like school. I never thought I'd say it but I _miss_ going to school. I wanted to go to college so I could open up a garage and sell cars, or just forget college and do it anyway. I know that I could have. I would have been really good at it."

"And you can't now because . . . ?"

"Because — I just can't now. I'm in this for life."

"Well, that's just the kind of bullshit I was talking about." She refuses to believe that this is Seth's life now, too. There is _no way_ that he is not graduating, absolutely _no way_ that she will let him drop out. "If you can work out how to stop, then why can't you do everything else?"

"Just because I _want_ to stop doesn't mean that I _can_. And even if I quit . . . What's the point?" His laugh is mirthless, twisted and wrong. "There's always going to be bloodsuckers. I mean, the Cullens have come back twice now . . ."

As the pancakes brown, Leah learns about the Cullens and Charlie's daughter who Leah thinks has always thought was boring and mopey and a bit wet, really, but then she finds out the girl actually wants to be like them. Bella _wants_ to be a vampire, is probably becoming one of them right now for all they know, Jacob says.

"That breaks the treaty though," Leah replies, remembering that particular story, "right?" And Jacob only nods, because there's not a damn thing he can do about it even though it's obvious he really wants to. Just about everyone knows he's got a major crush on Charlie's daughter. "So what happens then?"

"Sam says we'll have to fight. I don't really think they'd come back if they bite . . ." Jacob swallows thickly. "If they make her one of them and come back, we'll have to kill them."

Leah almost drops the plate she's about to slide in front of him, arms feeling slightly leaden. "And when — when you say _we_ . . ."

"All of us," Jacob says, and he looks sorry about it too. For good reason. "The whole pack."

She's never going to let Seth out of the house ever again, she thinks as she sets Jacob's plate down before him. "That's not happening," she announces resolutely. No way.

"Leah—"

"No. Sam's just going to have to rethink that plan." Her voice is dripping with her own type of venom. "Only over my dead body is Seth going to be part of that. Sam or no, treaty or no, there's not a fucking chance in hell that I'm going to—"

"It doesn't really work like that. If fighting is what Sam decides he wants to do, then we all have—"

"Why _Sam?_ " she demands, throwing her hands up. "Why does it have to be what _Sam wants_ or _Sam says_?"

"He's in charge."

" _Why?_ "

"Sam's Alpha, Leah. What he says goes." Jake stabs at his food, jaw clenching. "If he gives the order, then you can't refuse."

"Alpha?" She's nearly spitting, storming back and forth in front of the breakfast bar. "What kind of idiot thought that was a good idea? No — don't tell me, I don't care. He's not in charge — not of me. And he can't stop _me_ keeping Seth out of this bullshit. This is _insane,_ Jacob, he's just a kid and I'm not—"

"You can't do anything. Sam . . . He phased first. He . . ." Jacob pulls another face at his pancakes, grip tight around his fork. "I really think he should be the one to tell you all this, Leah."

She points her finger at him. "Don't do that. Don't decide what I should and shouldn't be told—"

"I'm not, I'm really not. I'm not trying to get out of it, I just — I told you yesterday. I really think you should hear it from him. It won't be easy to hear, and I don't want to hurt you."

"Have you been living under a rock?" she asks in disbelief. "What makes you think it'll be easier hearing it from him?"

"He didn't mean to hurt you, believe me . . . but he did, I know, I know," he says automatically underneath her glare. "I've seen it all. It's like I was there."

"How could you have been? That all happened months ago. And you said so yourself that it's only been about a month for you."

Jacob gives up with his pancakes and pushes the plate away, taking a deep breath. "We . . . hear each other. When we're phased. We can talk to each other, coordinate. It's helpful, but everything is laid out for everyone else to see. More than thoughts. We can . . . _feel_ each other, see each other's memories."

"That's . . . That's the most disgusting I've ever heard." But it draws her up short, and she finds herself perching on the edge of the seat opposite him. " _Everything_?"

Jake nods, his lips set in a thin, grim line.

"Private things? Things like . . ."

He pushes his barely-touched plate towards her. "You eat, I'll talk."

Only when she grudgingly picks up his fork and starts picking at the food does he start.

"I'm just learning, but Sam . . . When Sam changed — the first time — he had no help with any of this. Not like me, not like Seth. It's _horrible_ , Leah. It's the worst thing that's ever happened to me. But we weren't alone — for me, Jared and Embry and Sam and Paul were already there, helping me, talking to me. In my head. And then when Seth phased a few days ago, I was there too. But Sam had no help. He had it so much harder than the rest of us. He was the first, and he was alone, and he didn't have anyone to tell him what was happening. He thought he'd gone insane. It took him two weeks to calm down enough to change back."

Two weeks and three days. She remembers.

"Well, you know what happened after that," Jake continues. She nods. "Old Quil found him soon after, and then with your dad and Billy, they explained everything. Your dad — Harry, Billy and Mr. Ateara had all seen their grandfathers make the change. They were the only ones who remembered.

"And it was easier when he understood — when he wasn't alone anymore," Jake carries on. "They knew he wouldn't be the only one affected by the Cullens' return, but no one else was old enough. So Sam waited for the rest of us to join him. But he couldn't tell you." Jacob looks helplessly at her as she tilts dangerously on the edge of her seat still. "We're not supposed to tell anyone who doesn't have to know that it's all true — the legends. And it wasn't really safe for him to be around you, but he managed. You managed."

"And then we didn't. And then he left me," she tries to say as matter-of-fact as she can, though she's pretty certain she's about to find out why. She stops eating.

"He didn't have a choice about that. He—"

And . . . there it is. Pain. Everything starts hurting, right on cue, and it erupts from every inch of her.

"He didn't have a _choice?!"_

Jacob flinches and has to take a few deep breaths. "Wait — let me explain. In some of the stories . . . Did you ever—" he swallows harshly "—did you ever hear about imprinting?"

Oh, she feels sick. So, so sick. But Jacob doesn't wait for an answer, and his words which follow come out in a rush, pleading and apologetic — not because he's sorry that it happened, but sorry that he's the one who has to say it.

"That's what happened to him. That day, in your backyard . . . Sam imprinted. And when he . . . when he saw Emily, nothing mattered anymore. Because sometimes . . . we don't know why exactly . . . we find our mates that way. That's why he left. He freaked."

"Oh, please," Leah manages to bark around the sudden sickness, leaping out of her seat. "I've heard just about everything now."

"It's true. It happened to Jared, too, and . . . Well, trust me. I've felt—" Jacob all but chokes. "I've seen it. You just know."

"Nope, I changed my mind. That, right there — _that_ is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard. _Mates_?" She'd scoff if she didn't think it would make her hurl pancakes back up. "So much for no bullshit, Jacob Black. What do you mean? Like animals? For _breeding_?"

He looks uncomfortable, painfully so, but she's so furious she's sure there's red creeping in at the edges of her vision. There's no room for anything else. Not Jacob's guilt, his unease. Only her rage.

"Well?" she demands, voice rising. "What is it? How can you just _know_? I don't _understand!_ "

Jacob shrugs. "Nobody understands. Nobody from Ephraim's generation imprinted — there's nothing in the journals, nothing except from the pack before his and they're . . . cryptic at best. When they're translated, they could be interpreted in loads of different ways."

"So Sam could have gotten it wrong."

"No." Jacob shakes his head. "Not wrong. He might have gotten the _whys_ wrong, maybe. Everyone thinks differently. But he didn't get the imprint wrong. Nobody gets a choice about that part."

"No shit! You're telling me that I lost Sam to some — some mystical higher power? That he had no choice? Of course he had a choice, Jacob! Everyone gets a choice!"

His face darkens. "Not everyone. The one who gets imprinted on, maybe. The wolf will be anything, do anything she wants. It's not exactly tested, but . . . who can resist that level of commitment? Nobody's been told to just be a friend before."

Even worse. Emily could have refused. The bitch could have told Sam to get gone as soon as she'd understood what was going on. That way Emily would still be family — her friend, her sister. If only she'd told Sam to be her friend . . . or nothing at all.

Leah is never going to forgive them. If there had been any doubt about that before, any idea that someday maybe she would have been able to push past this . . . _hatred_ . . . No. Never.

Her limit reached, angry, vicious tears prick at Leah's eyes, her stomach rolling, and she barely makes it to the kitchen sink in time to empty her stomach. She heaves until there is nothing left, and several times after that, over and over and over again.

Jacob is there. He's _everywhere_. He stays even when she feebly tries to push him away, one hand scooping her loose hair up and the other rubbing her back. She vaguely thinks his hands are trembling, but maybe it's her — throat raw, cheeks wet, she's shaking so bad that she's not sure she'll ever be able to stop.

"I'm sorry," he whispers several times, the words barely legible. "Jeez, it actually _hurts_ to hurt you."

"Get out," she gasps when she finds her wits, though still she's hunched over the sink. Her fingers hurt from grabbing the edges of the counter so hard, the tips of them white and stretched to breaking point. "Go — get out, get out, get out!"

"Sorry," Jacob says again, his voice still strained, but in spite of it he sounds like he genuinely means it. "No can do. Not like this. I think you're the one person who can't order me away. Especially not now."

Leah swears colourfully at him as he spews his nonsense. She throws out every nasty word she can think of now she's found her voice, every ounce of fury she can throw at him, but it's not enough because Jacob doesn't leave and he doesn't fight with her. But he does take advantage when her voice eventually dies and her hands slip from the counter. He eases her away, mumbling something about cleaning up, whispering the apologies she's still not taking in as he leads her out of the kitchen.

It's only when he's about to steer her into the living room does she really put up a fight, and maybe he sees the shredded carpet she's not gotten rid of yet or maybe she digs her nails in too deep when her knees finally give out, but he at least seems to understand.

Not there. She's not been in there since the night after—

"Okay, not there. Calm down, it's alright. I'm sorry."

Instead of forcing her in, he scoops her up in one swift movement and takes her upstairs.

Her struggles are feeble. Jacob probably barely notices; he carries her like she's nothing against his solid weight, and she knows this situation should infuriate her something stupid but she can barely see straight. This is like nothing else. Nobody and nothing is the same. How can it be? Sam was _taken._ By _Emily._ And Sam _let her._ And — and —

In her room there's nothing left except tears. No sickness, no anger, just grief. Different from what she'd felt with Harry, what she _feels_ about Harry, and yet familiar nonetheless.

Jacob strokes her back throughout, his broad hands rubbing up and down her spine, along her hair. He pushes the wet strands away from her cheeks and behind her ears, speaking so low to her in Quileute all the while. She still doesn't catch any of the words. She doesn't even try to; she's heard nothing at all yet it feels like it's enough. But somehow he soothes her all the same as he waits for her to get her breath back, for it to even out and her face to dry.

It doesn't. Not for a long time.


	7. six

_gonna be who i am / be who i am / and give it up_ _  
_ _Kings of Leon, "Wait for Me"_

* * *

**six.**

* * *

_(Jacob)_

"Okay." Jacob sits back on his haunches. "Now clamp it here—" he points at the last crack at the bottom of the door frame which Seth has just sealed with wood filler "—and at the other end, then in the middle."

His face set with concentration, Seth pushes the jaws of the clamp together and starts twisting.

"Wait — gently, okay? You'll break it."

"It's already broken," Seth says, frowning with the barest hint of frustration.

Jacob rolls his eyes, though it's mostly at the look Seth is giving him from underneath that untamed hair of his which has still not been cut. It looks like a damn haystack. "The clamp, dummy. You're a lot stronger now."

"Oh." Something loosens in the kid's face as his grip relents on the handle. He looks suddenly wary of himself, and he's hesitant as he starts tightening the clamp again. "How'dya learn to do this, anyway?"

"Broke the door on the garage once and split the frame just like this," Jacob explains. "Well, actually — your dad did."

Beside him, Seth presses his lips together as tightly as he's winding the clamp, barely breathing and evidently trying not to react — and failing miserably.

"Billy showed me what to do," Jake carries on, as if he's not noticed, "but he said I was the one who had a hissy fit and locked myself in; I was the one who forced him to get Harry over to break it down in the first place . . ." He passes Seth another clamp. "Here, do the top next. Anyway," he says with a huff as they both stand, "it was my fault, so he said I was the one who had to fix it."

Seth has secured the clamp and reached for another by the time he finds his voice. "I didn't know he did that."

"I think he enjoyed it. I remember he looked real pleased with himself when it all came down. Billy laughed himself stupid, but maybe that was at me 'cos I probably looked like a thirteen-year-old who'd just shit his pants," Jacob recalls, voice light.

It doesn't make Seth smile like he'd hoped. The boy won't, or can't, take his eyes off of what he's doing as he asks, "Won't he be wondering where you are?"

"Probably not." Jacob's smile drops. "Sorry, kid, I didn't think. Do you want me to go?"

"No," Seth says all too quickly. "I don't. I just thought — doesn't he worry about you?"

"Naw." Billy might have been a bit . . . _cantankerous,_ especially when it came to being persuaded to go to a doctor about his feet (the old bastard would never be convinced, even though he knew that the head bloodsucker didn't work at the main hospital anymore), but he was nothing short of proud that his son had phased. "Charlie will be keeping him pretty busy today, I reckon."

Remembering yesterday, how he had torn away in the cruiser, Jacob wonders what Charlie thought of the bullshit note Bella had left him when he'd finally gotten home.

 _Please, please, **please** take care of Charlie, _she had begged. Maybe he _should_ go home, he thought. If Charlie _was_ there . . .

No — this is more important.

It's become a little startling when he remembers that Bella has not been crossing his mind as much — and only then with a little prompting. He's hardly been thinking of her at all, when less than two days ago he was thinking of nothing _but_ Bella. All. The. Time. When he was patrolling, when he was in the garage, when he was lying awake in bed and staring at the ceiling and—

Well. The pack radio is going to be noticeably different now, that's for sure. Even to himself. But he doesn't think that his brothers are going to miss The Bella Show too much. Or maybe they will — especially when they learn that another one of them has imprinted.

"Oh." Seth looks uncomfortable. "Right. Sorry."

It's too late for Jacob to school his features into something neutral when he realises that Seth has misinterpreted his expression for something other than it is.

"S'fine," he says. "I'll catch him in a bit, see if Charlie's calmed down any."

"Can you tell Leah about Dad, before you go later?" Seth's lips twist in some semblance of a smile as he works. Talking about Leah is easier, something that Jake has noticed about Leah when she talks about Seth, too. "I think she will really like that story."

"Yeah, sure." Jake huffs, doing his best to sound amused as he ignores the way his heart just skipped. He's going to have to get used to that, her name being said. But it's automatic, involuntary, just like being unable to not tilt his head a fraction upwards and listen for the sound of her breathing.

It's gentle, deep and even, much like Sue's across the hall. Still sleeping. She's been out for a while.

Jacob had sat with her for at least two hours before deciding that he had to move, that he had to get out of her room. Already she is tightly woven into everything he is and what makes him who he is, all he will be — this brand new person. And whatever she feels in return, his wolf will always return in kind; it is supposed to do and be what she wants, after all, and, apparently, they're all going to be deliriously happy about it.

The wolf wants it anyway, mirage or not. Demands it. It roars that Jacob _has_ to have it all otherwise he'll die.

Well — not really, but something pretty close to it.

Fucking imprinting.

It hadn't been easy, leaving her room. He hadn't been able to smell anything that didn't belong to her. She's all warm amber, summer wind and something wild, and her gods-damned scent has been driving him absolutely crazy since she brushed past him and Sam in the kitchen yesterday. He can still smell it now. But being there with her sleeping in his lap and resting her head against his chest, completely at ease . . . He'd known then that he had to move before he put himself in danger of doing something really, really stupid.

So he had set her down on her bed and had pulled the covers over her, already missing her warmth — _nothing_ was warm to him anymore; his temperature is pushing a whopping whole hundred-and-nine degrees, and apart from his brothers (and now Leah, it seems) the world has turned into this cold place. He has to tell himself every time he lifts his dad that the old man still has a pulse. And he'd just _had_ to tell himself to leave Leah be, otherwise he would have stayed and she would have woken up and he would have told her everything. About the warmth, about everything. She would have been declaring her disgust towards him by now.

He knows keeping something like this from her will do neither of them any good. In time, he's going to do or say something which she won't understand and he won't be able to explain unless she knows, but how can he possibly tell her this final part? How can he tell her that the thing which took Sam away from her has now irrevocably taken her away from him, too? Because she might never forgive Sam, or Emily, but it's obvious to anyone with a brain that she still loves him; her reaction to what he'd already told her had proven as much, and Jacob is pretty dead certain that if he takes any of that away she'll never forgive him either.

Tell her. Don't tell her. Tell her. Don't. He is in deep, deep shit either way.

"Will we see the others today?" Seth asks after a while of working in silence. His eyes quickly scan the quiet street — not for the first time since they've started on the other side of the door frame. They are slowly working their way along with what tools Jacob had managed to pull together from Harry's shed (before Seth had woken up and found him giving himself splinters).

"You know," Seth adds, self-conscious now. "Sam, Embry . . ."

Jacob's eyes follow. He can't laugh at Seth's nervousness. When he's not been acting like he can see through the ceiling and into Leah's room, he has been doing the same — looking down the driveway and along the street. As if he's expecting to be caught in the act, to be seen somewhere he shouldn't be.

"I guess." It's well past lunchtime — someone is undoubtedly going to come looking for them at some point. "We can always go to them, if you'd prefer. They're mostly always at Emily's."

Seth's eyes bulge. "Emily's? No. I can't. She'll . . . She's going to hate me," he whispers, horrified.

"Of course she won't! Sometimes she hits us with her spoon or her towel, sure, but that's—"

"Leah. I meant Leah."

"Oh. Well — yeah, probably," Jacob concedes. "For like half a second, though, kid. S'not your fault, you know. She knows that. She'll understand."

Seth over-tightens the clamp, breaking it, hands shaking and his breathing suddenly coming in frightful fits and starts.

"Seth—"

"Don't. Please." His voice breaks on the last word as if he's about to choke. "I gotta — I have to—"

Seth takes off like a bullet, barely hidden underneath the cover of the trees across the way before splitting his skin. And whilst Jacob knows there are some things that he can't fix — things like Seth thinking everyone hates him and blames him for Harry's death — he so badly wants to go after his brother, but he's a coward and can't make his feet move.

_Coward._

_Coward_ , the world chants as Jacob finishes the work alone. _Coward,_ it taunts as he rolls up the rug in the living room. He rolls it so tightly that there are no holes, no frayed threads to be seen or to betray what happened upon it, and sets it outside. Out of sight, out of mind. Then he sands the door frame down, screws the hinges back in, tests the lock, that one word echoing off the wood and back at him all the while.

_Coward, coward, coward._

* * *

There's nowhere else to go, so he goes to his garage where everything once made sense.

Parked exactly where he knew it would be, Jacob looks at Charlie's cruiser with something like cold shame before he slips through the side door.

Charlie is kind of predictable when there's trouble with Bella and he doesn't know what to do: he seeks Billy out — because Billy has two daughters, which means that he's supposed to know what to do during times of crisis. Charlie hasn't yet seemed to have figured out that Billy is absolutely clueless when it comes to these things. Rach and Becca are proof of that.

Jake doesn't blame his dad. He hadn't known what to do for his sisters, either, and leaving the Rez for the big wide world was something they'd always planned to do even before their mom had died. But maybe they would have stayed a little longer if Billy hadn't been at such an obvious loss. Maybe they would visit more than they did, which was, suffice to say, _never_.

Becca always blames the price of plane tickets; Rach always has some big test, or some project she just can't get out of — not even on Thanksgiving, which they don't celebrate on principle alone but still get together for so they can watch the football and gorge on food all the same. The past few Christmases have gone by without them, too, just like his birthday, Billy's birthday, Easter, _their_ birthdays, the Fourth of July . . . This year's holidays will be no different.

By the time Charlie figures this all out, Bella will probably have a dead heart and crimson eyes and will already be on her way to forgetting them all. It's why Jacob won't go in the house. She might already be dead (because that's what bloodsucker means: dead — no, _worse_ than dead) and this could be the last time that Charlie comes over to beat the world and his daughter's decisions to rights with Billy.

It usually takes a while for his dad to calm Charlie down. This time last year Charlie had come over for the same reason — Bella taking off without warning — and Jake had slept here in the garage, in the hammock, just to escape the yelling.

Only now, with his new keen ears and heightened senses, Jacob can hear every word from inside the house. He whacks his beaten stereo to life in an attempt to drown it all out and starts picking up the nuts and bolts he'd tipped out of his toolbox two days ago.

It takes _ages_ , just as he'd predicted. He wears through the same album in the stereo thrice over, volume rocketing as he practically rearranges his whole damn garage so he can get every single piece of metal he'd so carelessly set free. He doesn't care. It's keeping him busy, keeping him away from doing Really Stupid Things and away from Facing The Consequences.

When he's gotten everything back in his toolbox (and has rearranged that, too — twice), he even kills the music and tries sleeping in the hammock, which he hasn't done in forever, but twenty minutes of restlessness has him pretty damn sure he's never going to sleep right ever again. The imprint has gotten him all bent out of shape. It's not right. _He's_ not right; he's _exhausted_ — he's not slept for days — so it only makes him that more frustrated when he can't shut off. If he were still a normal teenager he would have definitely passed out by now.

He has to tell her. He can't live like this forever. He can try and distract himself all he wants — hell, he could rip out the head gasket of the Rabbit and keep himself busy for a whole day — but sooner or later he's going to have to patrol. He's probably only gotten away with not taking a shift for so long because they all think he's still looking after Seth, but they're all going to find out. And someone (three guesses who _that_ will be) is going to spill the beans. Better he do it first.

And he's about to get up and face his fate — honest, he is, he swears he's going to — when Seth barrels through his door red-faced and stark naked. There's twigs in his hair.

"I didn't know where else to go," he says, as if he's surprised to find himself here. "I went back home and you weren't . . . I couldn't—" He swallows thickly. "I'm sorry."

Jacob gets to his feet and throws Seth a pair of shorts from the small stack he keeps for emergencies only. They're all mostly worn, faded cut-offs which have seen better days and are way too tight, but it's better than going into the house in his birthday suit in front of unsuspecting visitors. "It's fine." He did offer his hammock up, after all. "Don't worry. You hungry?"

" _Starving,_ " Seth breathes.

Jacob smiles wryly. "You'll get used to it." He strains an ear to the house, but hears nothing. "Is Charlie's cruiser still out front?"

"Nobody's in. I knocked. Well, sorta," Seth admits sheepishly, which Jacob takes to mean that the kid just let himself in, "but then I heard you in here."

"S'fine," he says, shoving at the kid's shoulder and herding him out of the garage while resolving to give the kid the haircut of his life as he eats. "They're probably at yours."

"I saw the door. Thanks."

"Sure, sure. You didn't go in?"

Seth focuses on his feet as they walk up to the house. "My mom was crying. I wasn't even on the drive and I could hear her and I . . . Leah — she was trying to . . . I can hear _everything,_ Jake."

"It turns into background noise soon enough. Trust me."

Seth's sigh sounds like something it shouldn't for another few decades: weary, all-too knowing, a bit deprecating. They all have the same sigh now. "It's annoying."

"If you think that's bad, wait 'til you start patrolling with Jared. Dude sings hair-metal after a night with Kim because she doesn't want him thinking about — well, you know."

"Does it work?"

"Nope."

Seth sighs _that_ sigh again. "Great."

* * *

Emily is _ecstatic_ when Jacob arrives with Seth two hours later. She waves them in excitedly, her smile stretching all the way up the left side of her face where it meets the corner of her shining eye. Tears, Jacob realises, but wisely keeps his mouth shut as he pushes Seth and his new haircut into her home.

"Hi, Emily," Seth says quietly.

"I'm so glad you're here. Well, not that — you know, but you're here, I'm so pleased," she babbles. "I didn't think you'd come but I baked some muffins just in case because Sam said that you might but he didn't know when and I wasn't sure if it would be today or tomorrow or—"

"Jeez, let the kid breathe, Em," Jacob says, forcing a laugh. He can feel Seth's tense shoulders underneath his palms as he steers him forward. And whilst _he_ is suddenly feeling like a traitor of the first order, he knows it is nothing compared to what Seth is feeling. His nerves are rolling off him in waves.

Her half-smile twists into bashful embarrassment. "Sorry. Sorry, Seth. Would you like a muffin?"

Seth looks back at Jacob, to Emily, then at Jacob again, completely out of his depth.

"They're blueberry," Emily says, as if it helps, and Jacob tilts his head with the permission that Seth is asking for.

"Uh. Sure," he eventually replies.

Emily grins and rushes into the kitchen.

"She's . . . different," Seth whispers, watching her go.

Jacob chuckles and drops his hands. "She's just happy to see you, kid," he tells him just as quietly.

"I haven't seen her in months. Not even after — I didn't realise how bad—" he starts to say, but quickly shuts up as he hears Emily begin to hurry back and reappears with a whole tray of blueberry muffins, smiling wide.

Dutifully, Seth takes one, and then another, with her encouragement.

"Jake?" Emily offers the tray up to him, all but bouncing on her feet and unable to keep still.

He suspects the muffin will probably taste like betrayal might, but takes one anyway. Emily grins.

"The others have been in and out all day," she tells them. Seth is looking around. "Sam and Jared left about an hour ago."

"Any word on Quil?" Jacob can't help but ask.

"Not yet. Sam thinks it will be really soon," she says. "Come and sit down, Seth."

As with everything, Seth looks to Jacob before he does anything. And Jacob really, really hopes that it's not going to last, because as familiar as it is from his days before pack-life, when Seth hero-worshipped him a bit even then, it's going to get old pretty quick. Still, Jacob nods, permission given, and wills the kid on.

He's not sure whether it was a good idea to bring Seth over with nobody else here. But it had to happen — Seth is going to be spending a lot of time here, as they all do. Even Kim (who is no better than a frightened mouse and barely speaks a word to anyone but Jared and Emily) appears every so often to make camp at the kitchen table and catch her boyfriend up with his homework. She calls it their _den_ , because her wolf has been here since the beginning when it was just him and Sam holding the lines together, while Paul eats most of his meals here and Embry has all but claimed the couch in the corner for himself — if only because it's a place he can sleep without his mom shouting at him.

Point is, they're all here so often that it feels strange to not have Paul and Jared fighting over the last piece of chicken or Embry flat on his back and snoring, but then, Jacob has usually been wherever the pack is over the last month — and Bella during all the weeks before that. He has become used to it.

And Emily _loves_ it. She positively beams when Seth takes a chair and reaches for a third muffin five minutes later. Jacob's not even eaten his first.

By the fifth muffin, Seth is starting to look like he belongs. By the sixth, he's talking to his cousin without prompting, apparently glad of someone else familiar who he can talk freely with. And by the seventh, it eventually seems he has relaxed enough that Jake sinks onto Embry's couch.

"You know, if you're that hungry," Emily says, "I can make you something else. Something hot."

"I don't know why," Jacob grumbles, leaning back. "He ate me out of house and home only a few hours ago."

He slings his arm over his face, trying to settle — but his wolf has its back up, prickling in protest. He locks it down and stamps on its tail for good measure; he is so goddamned tired. _Please_ , he begs it, _let me sleep_.

 _Traitor,_ it howls. _Judas._

He ignores it and focuses on Emily's laugh, Seth's half-hearted protest, before he mumbles something of his own which is incoherent to even himself and then — _finally, finally, thank you_ — succumbs into uneasy unconsciousness.


	8. seven

_smaller than dust on this map lies the greatest thing we have / the dirt in which our roots may grow and the right to call it home  
Sleeping At Last, "North"_

* * *

**seven.**

* * *

_(Jacob)_

He feels as if he's barely closed his eyes when a hand shakes his arm. He groans, twisting his face into the worn back pillows of the couch which smell of wolf and boy and _pack_. It's reassuring, familiar, and more than likely the only reason he managed to fall asleep at all.

There's only one other place in the world he would have managed such a feat.

Sam pushes at his shoulder. "Wake up."

"No."

The long-suffering sigh that follows is one only ever used when he's around — not even Paul manages to give Sam as much trouble as he does — and Jacob thinks that if he opens his eyes he will see Sam pinching the bridge of his nose for added effect. He might even possibly be silently throwing up a prayer for help from Taha Aki himself.

Jacob ignores it and turns away again, burrowing into the mixed scents of his brothers. He doesn't care.

"It's almost sundown. Get up."

"No."

" _Jacob."_ Sam draws out his name with frustration. And Jacob, damn him, feels a chill run up his spine, his body unable to do anything else in response to the order which threatens in his Alpha's throat.

Fine. _Fine_ , he thinks, slowly uncurling himself. Every inch of him aches. The familiarity of the couch might have sent him quickly to sleep but it hadn't stopped him from being plagued with dreams he's never had before. He can feel just how fitful, how restless his sleep has been. Those dreams had been so real, so _vivid_ . . .

"Any time today, Jacob."

"C'mon, Jake!" Seth calls, his voice far too close for Jacob's liking. It yanks uncomfortably at the new thread which has latched around his heart and recognises Seth for who he is. Family. Brother. Something more. "Time to go!"

Jacob reluctantly cracks an eye open to the light. And sure enough, there is Sam holding his nose and there is Seth bouncing on his feet, both looking prepared to tip him onto Emily's carpet without apologies.

Jacob groans again, and though he knows the answer, can feel it wickedly taunting him, he asks, "Where are we going?"

Seth grins. "Patrol!"

Of course.

"Kill me," he tells them, tone entirely devoid of any kind of humour, but his bad luck seems to be on a running streak because they only roll their eyes at him, not able to take him seriously. "I mean it."

Seth just turns his grin to Sam. "Now?" he asks.

"Now," Sam agrees, and they pull him off the couch.

Assholes.

* * *

The redhead must have caught wind of Bella's tiny, psychic leech, Sam tells them, because she hasn't come anywhere near their lands since. He's keeping the pack on red alert, of course, but he seems so certain that she won't appear again until Bella does that he's given everyone the night off.

Everyone except for Jacob and Seth, that is.

"You're in charge," Sam says, "so we'll wake up and be right there if you call. Have fun."

The bastard has the nerve to smile at them before he shuts the door, but Seth only laughs before he turns to Jacob. Expectant, waiting, all too eager to get going.

He can't pull a face at the door when Seth's looking at him like that. So instead he takes a deep breath and trudges off the porch, setting off towards the forest which encompasses the house. Sam won't be smiling for much longer when he finds out — and neither will Seth, whose own smile seems to be splitting his face as he bounds after him.

He _bounds._ Damn kid is going to drive him to drink.

Well, he would if they _could_ get drunk. Paul took one for the team a few weeks back to find out how much it would take for their senses to be impaired, but he'd had to guzzle two crates of beer at an alarming rate before he felt so much as a buzz. And that had only lasted ten minutes before his body had burnt it straight off.

It had been a solid attempt. Even Jacob was willing to admit that, while Embry had been so impressed that he'd hurried right back to the store to buy three more crates so he could try the same thing himself, scraping quarters out of Emily's swear jar before he went.

He'd belched for hours and hours afterwards, but it had proved a point: they couldn't get drunk. Which was probably a good thing, considering, but Paul had been annoyed all the same.

He and Embry were both probably doing something just as stupid with the night off they'd been given. Jacob tries not to think too much about what he would have done with his.

Not this, that's for sure.

Seth's arms are swinging, his strides long when he catches up. Jacob suppresses a roll of his eyes.

"You seem . . . happier."

"I like Emily," is all Seth offers as an explanation. He kicks out his right foot, and Jacob sees the bit of leather cord hanging from the kid's ankle to be used for tying his clothes up before he phases. His smile is still a mile wide. "She made me this — just like the one you have."

"Yeah, we all have one. It saves a lot of time."

Time which Jacob does not have. It has run out, stretched as far as it can go, and has left him stranded. He'd tried to give himself a little more by stalking around Emily's kitchen and grabbing all the food he could find, chewing slowly as he made painful conversation with everyone until Sam had pushed them out of the door.

He couldn't pretend to be sick, because they didn't get sick. Nobody had caught so much as a damn cold since they'd phased, their immune systems too efficient now, their healing abilities from all things too rapid. And nothing like exhaustion or plain fear was a good enough reason to not patrol in Sam's eyes. They had to be dead or dying to be excused.

Dead or dying . . . or retired. He'd thought about quitting — he had been thinking about it continuously ever since he'd first seen Leah, had _really_ seen her, and had realised that she'll never accept him. He had almost handed in his resignation there and then, in that kitchen. But his temper is still too unpredictable to guarantee he'll never phase again, and he's not sure even that would be enough to stop the inevitable. It might put some sort of dampener on it, maybe, if he stops phasing, but he's pretty sure an imprint is a permanent thing. And control like that, control to stop, will take _years_. Sam doesn't even have a hope of retiring yet.

He could carry on trying to hide it from them, he supposes. It's a fool's shot, but maybe . . .

No. Definitely a fool's shot. Even if it were possible, what about Sam, who feels and hears and sees _everything?_ It's a miracle he still doesn't know. A miracle that, even if he has felt something, sensed something, he's not asked or pried too deeply about it.

Jacob can't hide that Leah is in his head. All. The. Time. Even now, right this minute, whether she knows it or not she is pulling at his subconscious, calling him, shredding and clawing at every bit of self-control he has fought for over these last weeks.

And Jared and Sam — when they patrol, their imprint is a steady beat in their head, an underlying pulse along the foundations of the pack. Imprints are _important —_ they are _sacred_ , not something to be ignored. Sam and Jared could never have hidden it if they wanted to. Hell, Jared had imprinted during second period and spilled his guts to Kim by the end of the school day.

But Kim, Emily . . . they had both already harboured secret crushes for their wolves. Kim had tacked Jared's name onto hers in her diary, for God's sake, and Emily had always looked at Sam from afar ever since the day he had been introduced to the family.

 _(That_ offering of information about Emily was something they'd only found out after Jared brought Kim home for the first time.)

They'd wondered, then, if there was always this predetermined pull. But while Jacob has always thought Leah a force of nature, he hasn't ever wanted her like this before. She is strictly, strictly off-limits; they've grown up together and his sisters would have teased him stupid if he'd ever shown something towards her, because she and Seth are practically family. It would have been weird.

He blows out a breath. He is absolutely done for.

"Kid. Before we do this—"

"I know. Make sure nobody can see, don't hurt anyone and save your clothes, yeah?" Seth says excitedly, already stepping out of his shorts. "I think we're good, though. Nobody's here except for us."

"Hang on a minute. I want to talk to you."

But what he wants to say flies right out his head when Seth smiles like that, and Jacob understands what he has to do.

There can be no mental disorganisation in the pack. Not if the redhead is coming back. Not if they are going to have to fight the Cullens. They have to be one solid, indestructible unit, with no pretences between them. They won't be able to function otherwise.

It's the only reason Jacob hadn't faked death in Emily's kitchen, because he knows this. Deep down, he knows that he will have to come clean because the pack has to be together on everything. Sam will stand for nothing less.

And it's that thought which makes him say, "Seth, you don't have to be okay with this—" he waves his hands about stupidly, a little bit manically "—or anything, you know. I mean, we couldn't even get you to phase back twenty-four hours ago. Twelve hours ago you were barely speaking. And now you're all excited and stuff, and it's . . . well, it's weird, kid."

"So what?"

He's never hated himself as much as he does right now. He's such a fucking hypocrite. "So I'm saying you don't have to be."

Seth frowns. "Why not? You're okay with it. Sam's okay with it. The others seemed fine—"

"I'm not. This is . . . It's _insane_ , Seth, that we have to do this, you know that, right? It might seem fun at first, but it's really anything but. It's real hard, kid."

"I — I know," he says, dropping his shorts. "I know that. But — Jake, what else is there?"

Jacob doesn't have an answer for that. "It shouldn't be this way," he says instead of replying. "You don't have to pretend that it's okay, because it's not. You're not going to be able to keep pretending when you phase. You can't. You're going to throw everyone off, so trust me when I say it's better to stop now. Stop pretending."

"I'm not—" Seth starts, but he can't finish. He gulps, and what composure he has been keeping together finally fractures. Because no — Seth is not okay with this. Seth is just trying to get on with it, because he doesn't want to — _can't_ think about anything else. And he's taking his lead from everybody else because he doesn't know what else to do. Because nobody's shown him a better way.

Seth's throat bobs again. And then he erupts.

"I don't know what else to do. I can't . . . You saw what I did, Jake! I killed him — _killed_ him, he's _dead_ — _I_ did that, it's my fault! And now everything's _so messed up_ and I can't _think_ anymore and I — I thought it was a bad dream and then it wasn't but there's nothing I can do about it so I have to pretend, Jake, I have to—"

He crumples to the ground, his breathing ragged. But it's not like the hot gasps before a phase takes hold. It's just pure . . . _brokenness_ , and Jacob cannot help but fall with him.

"Seth, you didn't kill Harry. Look at me." He grabs Seth's shoulders, his face which is streaked with tears. "Look at me. Hey. It's not your fault. You know your old man had a bad heart. Billy said he'd been taking pills since he was a kid, that he hadn't been taking care of himself like he should have been. Look at me, Seth."

Seth drags his eyes up, the whole action a struggling effort. And when his eyes — _Leah's_ eyes, Jacob thinks with a pang — meet his own, they are flat. Cold. Empty.

"You didn't kill your dad, Seth," Jacob tells him again, throat tight, "just like I didn't kill my mom after Billy let me help him change the oil two days before, okay? It just . . . happened."

He's never shared that before, not willingly. The reason why he'd holed himself up in the garage and had blamed himself for years and years, why he hadn't faced any of it until his sisters had gotten on that plane to Hawaii without looking back. Leaving him. But not, he'd finally learned, because he had been the reason their mom was dead. It was not his fault.

"My dad knows that. Your mom knows that. And so does your sister, okay?"

Seth's tears pool again, but recognition flares in his face against them. Faintly, but enough of it that Jacob feels a glimmer of hope that he'll be able to get the kid back on his feet.

"I'm sorry," he says after a long moment. God, he's such an asshole. "Just — it's really important. For everyone. I don't want you to fake it, okay? Don't even bother. It'll only make it worse, trust me. Trust _us._ We're pack."

Seth takes a breath as if he's about to say something, but after a thought swallows it back. He nods, and swipes lamely at his eyes, taking another lungful of air to steady himself as his hands drop in his lap.

He sits like that for a while, and Jacob is content to give him as much time as he needs. Sam's right — the redhead won't come back, not until Bella does. Patrol can wait, and not only because he's frightened to fall on four paws and let everyone see into his mind. He doesn't think Seth particularly wants him listening in right now, either.

Shit. He truly is a hypocrite. Nothing was worth breaking Seth in like that.

Fuck the greater good. Fuck the treaty. He'd thought the same when he had punched Sam, after Sam had pried some of his deepest secrets from him too. And Sam had beaten him right back, all the way into the ground until he was a sobbing mess.

He kind of wants Seth to hit him now. But he knows he won't, even if he asks.

So he waits.

Eventually, when darkness has finally set in, Seth stretches his legs out, his sigh just as long.

"Okay?"

"Yeah." Seth rubs at his face and sighs once more. "This really blows."

Jake bumps his shoulder, his smile small. "Attaboy." He stands, his hand offered out, and pulls Seth to his feet who dutifully ties his shorts to his ankle.

When Seth squares his shoulders again, new resolve clearing in his eyes, Jacob can see why Leah had so vehemently refused her little brother to be part of this. He could kill those bloodsuckers — no, he _will_ kill those bloodsuckers for the way this fourteen-year-old has to steel himself. That treaty is going to be torn to shreds when he's done.

"What now?" Seth asks.

"Well—" _I don't know, kid, I'm kinda making this up as I go along_ "—you can go home, if you want. I can take this one."

Seth frowns. "On your own? No. I mean, I gotta start somewhere, right? If this is what we have to do, then . . . let's do it."

"Right."

Silence falls enough as Jacob stares into the depths of the forest, towards something even he can't see, that Seth clears his throat. "Jake? You okay, man?"

"Sure," he says, but he doesn't stop looking, searching, and it's with a faint sort of horror that he realises what exactly it is — _who_ it is he's looking towards. Without even realising. Just like Sam, and just like Jared . . . There is that thread which is reeling him in and in without him even being aware of what's happening until it crashes down on him.

It takes everything he has to not put a step in that direction and go running towards where that thread ends.

Hell.

It's going to disrupt everything. It's going to throw Seth off any kind of training and guidance which Jacob has been appointed to give. Because these first days are the most important, after getting a new wolf back on his feet. It's make or break. If he himself hadn't been put in his place by Sam, he knows he would have been so disorganised that he wouldn't have known which way was up for weeks and weeks. And though he hadn't intended it, he has most certainly become that person for Seth now.

"Jake?"

"Yeah, kid." He shakes himself. "You ready?"

Seth stands to attention. It's almost funny.

"Okay." Jacob shucks off his own shorts, if only so he can give himself something to do. Anything other than having to look at Seth's face as he starts to wrap them up and says, "We've got a lot to go through."

"I can do it."

"I know you can, Seth," he assures him, gut twisting as he ties his shorts to his leather cord (he's going to _rip_ those leeches to pieces, burn them until they are ash in the wind), "just . . . keep an open mind, yeah? It's going to be easier because it's only going to be me and you, but that means there's a lot more to hear."

Seth shrugs. "You heard everything already."

"Yeah," he agrees easily, taking four steps back, "but you haven't."

"Like what?"

But Jacob has already summoned the fire in his belly, heat flooding through him within an instant. It's very, very easy — easier now that he's determined and knows what he has to do. The oncoming phase runs up along his spine, pushing out towards his arms, his legs, and within a second he is digging his claws into the earth.

So, so easy.

"Wow," Seth says.

Jacob snorts, shaking out his red fur as he stretches out, dipping low, feeling every joint respond and work together. He is glad for the relief it brings. Like he's been caged, and is now free to roam. But the silence is strange. He's not been alone like this for as long as he can remember, and it's almost like being in his own head again. Safe, private.

Daringly, he casts out a forbidden thought to make sure.

Silence.

It's fantastic.

Jacob sits back on his heels and cocks his head at Seth. _Come on, then._

It takes a while. Three scrunches of Seth's face which has lost all the puppy fat he had at Christmas and looks six, seven years old than it really is. Five grunts of struggling effort. But Jacob just waits, because this is another one of those things which Seth has to learn on his own. It's his body, his will alone which invokes the change now rippling over his body and has him standing as tall as a horse.

 _Phew._ Seth shivers. _Thought I'd never do it._

 _It gets easier,_ he replies, valiantly trying to keep his thoughts clear. Focused. He watches himself through Seth's mind, which never stops being seventeen kinds of freaky, looking a little larger and imposing than normal — but perhaps that's because Seth's the smallest of them, the youngest, a child looking at a grown-up despite the huge growth spurt he's had.

 _I'm not a child._ Seth bristles, his sandy-coloured tail flicking in response. _I'm fourteen._

Jacob squishes the memory of Leah standing in front of him at the stove, barefoot and defiant and beautiful with her lopsided ponytail as she had reminded him they're _all_ teenagers, really.

 _Sure, kid._ He huffs. _Let's get going._

If Seth has noticed anything, he doesn't comment. He's too wrapped up in himself, staring down at his surprisingly steady feet as they prowl through the woods, marvelling at how huge his paws are, what colour they are, how easily he can retract his dark claws, how sharp they are, how he can _feel_ with them.

 _Wow,_ Seth says again, surprise coating his tone now that he has finally taken the time to look at himself this way. Before it had just been running and hiding, trying to escape himself. This here is acceptance, of sorts, learning himself as he goes.

It's a good start.

Jacob begins making for the river, keeping his mind focused on Seth the whole way, and begins to show Seth the boundary lines which define their territory.

As they move, he can feel Seth's suspicion that he's being watched to make sure that he's acting okay, that he's not about to slip up and do something wrong. And Jacob, more than happy to pretend otherwise, doesn't let him think differently.

 _Here?_ Seth asks when they get close to the slippery riverbank.

 _You can smell it?_ Jacob asks, and Seth nods, thinking about the faint smell of sweetness he has caught and the way that it slightly burns his nose. _Good. It doesn't get so bad here, with the water and it being so damp, and what you can smell is all mostly the redhead anyway. With the Cullens gone, they haven't retraced their lines in months._

Seth eyes the invisible border with hesitancy. _What happens if you cross here?_

 _You can cross,_ Jacob tells him, _just don't do it on four legs._

 _But they can't cross into ours? Into La Push?_ His thoughts instantly fly to his mother and sister, a deep need to protect them seeping into his bones as he comprehends what he has been made for: to keep his tribe safe and defend them until his last breath.

 _Never. We kill them if they do_. _We **have** killed them — one of them, the one I told you about. They knew him, but he wasn't part of their . . . coven. The redhead knew him, too. I think they were together._

Jacob thinks of Bella, and allows the memory of her revelation to play out across his and Seth's shared link. Laurent. Victoria. James. That scar on Bella's—

 _They **bit** her? _Seth is horrified; his ears flatten against his head as he recoils from the memory in his disgust.

( _"What's that?"_ he hears himself say. _"This is your funny scar, the cold one."_

 _"Yes, it's what you think it is,"_ Bella's echo whispers. _"James bit me.")_

Seth growls, unable to stop himself. His teeth, as sharp as his newfound claws, gleam against the moonlit water as the wildlife around them scatters in fright until there's nothing, nobody around but them, not even the fish in the river.

 _I know,_ is all Jacob can reply.

_How can you stand it? That they got that close to her?_

Jacob remembers how he had barely kept himself in his skin as he turns his back and starts heading for the edge which separates La Push and Forks — the one which has more of a distinct smell of _them_ on one side and _home_ on the other: the official treaty line.

The boundaries aren't so invisible, if you know what to search for, if you press your nose close enough. Sight alone isn't enough, even if they all think their territory is more beautiful and can be defined by its vibrancy — if only because _they_ are in it, because it's _theirs_ no matter what the government or any bloodsuckers might say. Their lands are full of trees and mountains and rivers which flow into the ocean and beat against their cliffs; they are fifty miles of stretching and rolling, plush lands, and far, far too big for a pack of this size to cover so thoroughly on their own.

There will be more of them soon. Quil is _so_ close it's becoming unbearable. But that will only make seven. Still not enough, even if it will put them on a level-playing field with the Cullens when they all come back. Odds which will tip out of their favour again if Bella returns to Forks with crimson eyes and brings her new family's number to eight.

How many more? Two, three, four?

 _Maybe we won't see them again,_ Seth says with quiet hope. He doesn't want them anywhere near his family, and Jacob is inclined to feel the same.

_They will._

He picks up their speed then; they've got a lot of ground to cover, a lot of markers for Seth to learn and become accustomed to, but he's not worried. The kid's confidence is sky-rocketing and as long as he focuses on _now_ , he'll do okay.

At the treaty line, he has Seth try and pick out the different scents of the bloodsuckers. What is Cullen, and what is the redhead, which is easier with one being more fresh than the other. He has Seth guess at the different sounds around them, and soon realises that whilst he might be the strongest and Jared might have the best eyesight, Seth definitely has the best ears of the pack.

Seth stands taller with the compliment, and starts working even harder. He recognises the next border after only a second, all without help from Jacob's thoughts which he purposefully kept as clear as possible for the test.

 _Good. Really good, Seth,_ he says, and Seth's pride washes over him as if it were his own. _Okay. Perimeters next. Embry's been digging out a new route a bit closer to home — see if you can find it._

And so they go on, and on and on and on without rest, not even a moment to pause, and towards the end of it Jacob is so drained — _mentally_ drained, from keeping his secrets in favour of giving Seth the guidance he desperately needs — that he finds a spot not too far from the Rez and thinks that even in the mud he could take a decent nap, _right there. . ._

It's difficult to keep his focus, but he's managing. Barely, but he is, by some blessed miracle. It will be worse when more phase in, providing more tangents of thoughts to pick up and bleed into his own, because he'll be damned the second he feels Sam and Jared's quiet, unrestrained pining for their imprints and he latches onto it with his own wishful thinking. When they want, he wants, and just like that the rest of the pack will want, too. They are one.

Who will be the first to feel exactly what _he_ wants when he looks into Seth's eyes and sees—

 _What's that?_ Seth asks, curiosity spiking as if he's heard his name but has been too engrossed in something else and missed part of the conversation.

Jacob shuts down. _Nothing. Just thinking about the hive mind thing._

_I wondered about that earlier. Before — when Sam was trying to get me out of the cave. Why can he hide most of what he thinks? Like he's got his own private space, or something._

Because he's an ass, Jacob thinks, but he can't do anything about it because he has settled for being second-in-command. _Because he's Alpha. Think about it. If he was freaked or something, then the rest of us wouldn't have a chance in hell. It would be pure chaos. What we feel has an effect on everyone else. Him the most._

 _Huh. Makes sense, I guess._ Seth falls into trot beside him. _Can you do it? You're in charge, aren't you?_

_I don't think so. I'm Second. And if neither of us are around, he can leave others in charge like Jared but the orders don't work right. Not so much weight to them._

_So you're like . . . Beta?_

_Yeah, that. Can't switch off the same, though,_ Jacob says, and he knows the jealousy he feels towards Sam about it slips through whatever barriers he has managed to erect. _Would be nice if the rest of us could have some privacy, too._

Seth readily agrees as Jacob silently chokes the life out of another stray thought, fixing his eyes on the thinning trees above. Dawn is not far away. They've been at it all night, and it's becoming harder to shield his lies.

_Go home, kid. Get some rest. You did good tonight._

_You sure?_

_We're only a mile out from the Rez. Go. It's fine._

_Okay._ He can feel how uncertain Seth feels about it, but eventually his exhaustion wins out and he nods his massive head. _Are you coming?_

His heart leaps, and he knows Seth has heard the skipping beat. _Huh?_

_I thought . . . I dunno, I feel weird. I thought it was you and that you wanted to come, too. You can, if you want. They won't mind._

_Maybe I'll swing by later_. _You go, Seth. Sleep. That's an order._

Thankfully, Seth doesn't need to be told twice, and Jacob collapses the second the kid is on two feet and out of sight. He listens, though, as Seth runs towards the place they both want to be most.

He is the worst person ever.


	9. eight

_so burn it all down, and bring the ashes to me  
Arcade Fire, "We Don't Deserve Love"_

* * *

**eight.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

"You look stupid," Leah tells Seth plainly, running her fingers through the too-short strands of his thick, midnight hair. "You look like one of those troll dolls with the sticky up hair. You might as well have dyed it green."

Seth smiles sleepily into his pillow, his eyes closed. "I like it," he says quietly, entirely content. (He always turns into a sack of shit when someone touches his hair — that's why she's doing it, if only to prove to herself that she's not completely lost him.) "Jake cut it for me."

Leah purses her lips together and keeps her hand steady as it brushes along his forehead. Since Seth walked in half an hour ago it has been _Jake this_ and _Jake that,_ and she doesn't like it. It's almost hard to believe that there was once a time it used to be _Leah this_ and _Leah that._

When did it change? Before, or after?

She knows she should be grateful; twice now Jacob has brought her brother home, and he seems to have become her unlikely ally in keeping Seth emotionally stable enough that he can bear to be on two legs, if her little brother's ramblings about his night are to be believed — because after Jacob had told her about their tempers and instability, she expected endless tears and heated arguments and possibly another explosion of fur. But Seth is . . . not quite at peace, no, but something which seems quite close to it.

And, yeah — she's just a little envious that all of this means that Seth now more or less worships the ground Jacob Black walks upon.

Seth nestles further down into the comfort of the bed he's now too big for, the echo of a smile still on his face.

And damn if it doesn't tug at something deep inside of her as she watches him. She loves this kid. More than her own life. More than anything. "Sleep, Seth."

"Mm-hm," he hums.

His breath evens out almost instantly, his mouth falling a little slack, but Leah doesn't stop coursing her hand through his hair for the longest time, not until the morning's light finally dips behind the greying clouds and she's reminded of the shadows she'd seen in Jacob's eyes.

Damn Jacob Black. He's going to be the end of her.

Leah sighs and lets her hand fall. She takes one last, long look at her brother — at his stupid hair, the way he is frowning even in his sleep — and quietly eases herself up from the edge of his bed and out of his room.

Leah Clearwater has absolutely no limits when it comes to her little brother. And if by some mysterious reason the world doesn't know this already, then it is damn well going to learn: Seth will not be involved in this bullshit. He's out all night, sleeping all day, leaving him barely a second to spare to grieve for Harry — he couldn't even attend the _funeral_ , for God's sake. And he's going to be missing s _chool_.

Leah might have very well thrown her own plans for college out of the window because of Sam Uley, but Seth _is_ going to graduate high school and he _is_ going to go to college — somewhere far, far away if she can manage it.

Sam and his _pack_ can go to hell.

And that's that.

Despite her lethal air of calm, Leah is composed as she pulls on her shoes and her jacket — the perfect picture of calm before a storm. And when she steps outside, the surprised jump of her heart is the only thing which slips through her otherwise cool facade.

Quil Jr. is just as surprised, betrayed by his nervous smile which looks wrong on his face. Wrong, because everything about him is harder, more angular and defined than she's ever seen, and that is when she realises: _of course_ Quil is one of them. He's an Ateara. And save for the ponytail tied at the nape of his neck, he's a spitting image of them all.

"Hey, Leah." He lifts up a wrapped dish in some sort of explanation, a thousand apologies ready to fall from his lips. He's always been a bit shy, she remembers. "My mom wanted to . . . Oh, uh, is it a bad time?"

"If you're here for Seth," Leah begins icily, "you can shove _that_ up your ass and go right back the way you came. Tell Sam — no, actually, why don't you tell Sam to come here himself?"

That will save her storming over. But, then . . . she doesn't really want Sam anywhere near her brother. That's the whole reason she's headed out. Knowing that he's on the same reservation is just about enough, although with a bit of luck Emily will hopefully have him move back to Neah Bay with her soon enough. And when they're gone, Leah won't have to think about this _'imprint'_ shit Jacob told her about ever again.

Quil just blinks, his bewilderment at her unfriendliness clearing as it's replaced by shock. " _Seth_? They got Seth?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Quil Ateara. I know everything." She crosses her arms and hopes she looks like her mother. Stern and reproachful. "Why don't you go and let Sam know I'm coming? I'll even be nice and give you a head-start. Not that you'll need it."

Quil's bushy eyebrows pull together tightly. "Why would I do that?"

Slow realisation sets in and, suddenly, the casserole he's holding drops to the floor, glass smashing noisily and food quickly puddling around his feet, but Quil doesn't so much as look down at it.

"Wait," he says. "You think I'm one of _them_ , don't you?"

"I _know_ you are," she replies, resolute, but he's not really listening as he furiously shouts over her, " _Why_ does _everyone_ think that?!"

"Uh — because you are?" Leah gestures at him, undaunted by the fact he looks closer to seven feet than six and is struggling to rein in his temper as he tarnishes her doorstep. He's _just_ like the rest of them: angry and all hard lines.

And _imposing._ Quil seems to think nothing of it as he braces a hand against the door frame and leans in closer, his face set with a bitterness she's seen before.

"I don't have anything to do with them," he huffs hotly, "why can't you see that?"

"I can _see_ just fine."

"Obviously not. You don't know a _thing_."

"I do," she tells him, feeling no particular pride about it. "Seth's my _brother_ and—"

"So ask him!" he yells, his hot breath blowing over her.

"—and I don't care what Sam orders you to do or what game he's got you playing, because I swear on my _life_ , if you don't get out of my face then it'll be Charlie Swan who drags you away," she threatens, if only because he's the first person she can think of. "Mom said he's already gunning for you. He'll be here in seconds."

(Okay, maybe that's a stretch, and they all know Forks cops have no jurisdiction here — not even their Chief of Police — but that won't stop Charlie coming if she asks. She is absolutely certain of that. Charlie is good people. And he is most definitely on the warpath when it comes to Sam Uley and his _gang_ , if her mother is to be believed.)

"Sam doesn't _order_ me to do anything," Quil says, his face turning as murderous as hers. It would almost be convincing if she didn't know better. "None of them do. _"_

Leah scoffs derisively, half expecting him to stamp his feet and throw a tantrum — though one of his tantrums probably looks a whole lot different than she's prepared for. "Yeah. Okay, Quil."

"Why do you — _how_ can you . . ." He snaps his head to the side, breath shaky as he closes his eyes for a brief second. "You know what? Fine. I don't care. You're just like everyone else," he spits, finally pushing himself away. The casserole from his feet flies everywhere as he all but leaps off her porch. "They all think the same thing, and you . . ." He looks entirely hopeless as he turns back towards her. "You do too, don't you?"

Refusing to break his stare, Leah blindly reaches for the door. "Bye, Quil. Tell Sam what I said, won't you?"

"Wait—"

Quil lurches forward, impossibly fast. Glass shatters loudly underneath his shoes as his palm slaps against the door to force it open. And, damn it, he looks so hurt by those few words, so pained, so like the boy he _should_ be, that she hesitates.

Maybe . . .

She sighs, raking her long hair away from her face. "What, Quil?"

"They got Seth?" he asks again. _"_ Are you _sure?_ "

"What do you mean, _am I sure?"_

"If they got him . . ." Quil's hand drops listlessly to his side, and in that moment he's just the kid who tags along with Jacob and Embry everywhere, the three of them thick as thieves as they tear across the reservation. "Everyone keeps . . . _looking_ at me. Even my grandpa acts like —" He swallows thickly. "Like I'm one of them. Or like I will be and he's just waiting for it."

"Quil—"

"If Seth's with them now . . ." He shakes his head in disbelief. "If he's . . . I'm next, aren't I?" he whispers, horror-struck. "What do I do?"

Oh, hell.

She doesn't have an answer for him. If Quil isn't part of Sam's little cadre, then it sure looks like he's _going_ to be — and soon. He is _huge_ , and she's pretty certain that if she puts her hand on his head he'll feel as hot as Seth felt when she'd brushed his spiky hair back upstairs.

It's the memory of her little brother arguing with Harry like this, of him exploding in the living room and disappearing for days and days that has her taking a step back, and it is with sudden clarity that she realises perhaps the scars on her cousin's face were not actually caused by a bear. It's only taken her four days to twig.

. . . Did _Sam_ do that?

Quil, mercifully, snaps her out of that thought.

"Please," he begs, yet more glass shattering as he steps with her, his face twisting at the wariness he can see in her eyes. "I'm not one of them, Leah. I'm not going to hurt you, _please_ , please, please believe me. I hate them. I hate _him_ , I do, I _swear—_ "

"Okay, okay, I believe you! Jeez!" She wants to look like she means it, she does, but still she can't stop herself pulling further away from him. "Just . . . have another deep breath, or something. Calm down."

Amazingly, he listens. Quil eyes shut as his chest heaves — once, twice, and thankfully something seems to have evened out when he looks at her again. He takes another step, hands outstretched, but the broken glass on the concrete porch finally grabs his attention.

"Oh, man," he moans. "Mom's gonna go _nuts_."

Leah bites her lip, suppressing the delirious urge to laugh at him and his suddenly _normal_ problems.

"Give me your shoes," she says, sticking her hand out before she can think about what she's doing.

"What?"

She rolls her eyes and snaps her fingers. "Just give me your shoes. Make sure you step over the glass and stuff when you come in, okay? I don't want to be picking bits out from your feet, too."

* * *

She's at the sink with Quil's spoiled sneakers when he pads into the kitchen. There's casserole all down his shirt and dirt on his knees, and his ponytail is coming loose.

Who will be the one to cut his hair? She curses herself for thinking it, for not realising it sooner.

"Where should I put this?" he asks.

"Did you get it all?" He nods, looking a little nervous again, and she jerks her head towards the bin before turning back to the sink. "Trash. Do you know what the dish looked like?"

"Uh . . ."

 _Boys._ She tries not to sigh. "Have a look in the fridge," she tells him a little distractedly, trying to concentrate as she eases out a shard embedded into the sole of his left shoe with her fingernail. She's got casserole all over her now, too. "I don't know what belongs to who, so if you think you'll get away with it then you can take whatever you think is best. I'm sure Joy won't notice."

"Uh," he blurts stupidly again, "I don't think she expects me to come back with it."

"So tell her you stayed. I invited you in and we had it for — _ow!_ " Leah hisses as her finger starts bleeding. "You mother _. . ._ _fudger._ "

Quil snickers. "You can swear, you know."

"Can't," she argues back half-heartedly, peering at her finger with narrowed eyes. "Joy would kick my ass. You're like, what, twelve? Yeah, good example."

"I'm nearly seventeen."

"Sure you are," she says all too agreeably, gingerly sucking at her injury around her smirk. It stings like a bitch. "Pass me a knife, would you? Second draw."

Quil looks somewhat amused as he hands it over. "I can do that you know. I mean, I broke it."

"Children shouldn't play with knives," she replies gravely.

"I told you, I'm nearly seventeen!"

"Mm-hm, okay, kiddo. Why don't you start looking for that dish while I do this?"

Leah bites back a smile as Quil grumbles a bit about _children_ and _seventeen_ and opens the fridge. It's always been _so_ easy to rib the younger boys — her mom used to reprimand her something rotten for it — but . . . maybe it's not really such a wise idea to poke fun at him, given the circumstances.

Having to be so careful with what she says is going to start getting old _real_ quick, she thinks as Quil whistles lowly.

"Shit," he remarks. "I forgot what this looked like. We lived off this crap for ages after my dad died; I _told_ my mom you'd have enough, but she wouldn't listen . . ." he muses almost absently as he ducks down to get a better view of all the shelves which are still packed to the rafters. "You won't have to go to the store for weeks."

Leah swallows a little uncomfortably. They'd buried Quil Sr. exactly a year after they'd buried Sarah Black. To this day that storm is the worst they've ever had.

It doesn't seem fair, really. Any of it.

"I hate casserole," she admits, because she knows Quil will understand she's not trying to be ungrateful — she just wants normality and her dad back, like he did. Like he still does.

"Tell me about it," he sighs woefully. "I still can't eat it without feeling like I want to cry."

Quil freezes, realising what he's just said. He flicks her a quick look over his reddening cheeks. "Uh — don't tell anyone I said that. The guys would . . . well, maybe not them, but y'know, still. Don't tell anyone."

Leah rolls her eyes and resists the urge to throw his shoe at him, handing it over instead. "One shoe for my secrecy."

He grins, turning a little daring as he braves asking, "What do I get for the other one?"

"You'll be lucky if I don't hit you with it," she retorts easily, though she's unable to hold in her astounded, choking laugh.

Quil simply stretches his grin and turns back to the fridge.

"Do you miss him?" She's aware she's treading in risky territory as she idly picks at his shoe, but can't stop herself from asking. "Your dad."

"Every day. You?"

"Every hour," she says, keeping her eyes trained on what she's doing. She's not sure if they're suddenly watering from the strain, or . . .

If Quil has noticed the sudden onslaught of tears, she's grateful he doesn't mention it. "Sucks, huh?"

"Yep." Another bit of glass drops into the sink as she clears her throat, quickly wiping her face in the crook of her shoulder. "You found anything yet?"

"All looks the same to me, if I'm honest," Quil huffs.

"So just pick the casserole that looks most disgusting."

"It _all_ looks—" he starts to retort, but he's cut off by the phone ringing at the wall. "You want me to get that?" he asks, nodding to her busy hands

Everyone she loves is upstairs and there can't possibly be any real emergency; the worst she could have imagined has happened, after all, so she shrugs. "Sure."

Quil answers the phone so brightly that it makes Leah wondering whether he might be able to get away with staying _just Quil_ and not becoming something else at all. She's surprised to find that she's actually starting to kind of like him. Troubles aside, he seems like a surprisingly uncomplicated kid, if a little goofy. He's funny.

That is, until, his face darkens and his mouth presses into one long, thin line. He covers the receiver tightly with his hand.

"Sam," he mouths. And when she pulls a face, God love him, he seems to straighten his back a little and says quietly, "I'll get rid of him."

But she shakes her head and holds a wet hand out for the phone. "It's fine," she mutters as he warily passes it over. She's not forgotten that she's supposed to have given Sam what for by now. And if she has to do it over the phone in front of Quil, then, well. So be it. The kid will probably appreciate it, if anything.

"What do you want?"

"Leah? Who was that?"

"None of your business," she replies, the words dripping with every bit of venom she can muster. No. She's not forgotten. But she thinks that, if she listens closely, she can almost hear his teeth grinding at her tone. Good.

"Is Seth there?"

"No."

Quil looks questioningly at her as she drops his shoe in the sink and stretches the phone cord. He looks a little mad, too, and she has the vague sense to know that if this carries on much longer that she's going to have a wolf in her kitchen before long. Most likely.

"Jacob says he sent him home." A beat. " _Before_ the next shift turned up," Sam adds disapprovingly, and she can picture the frown on his face, the hard press of his full lips.

It seems she has something else to thank Jacob for. He hadn't just sent Seth home, he'd sent him home before he was supposed to.

 _Damn Jacob Black_ , she thinks again.

"Not my problem."

"Leah—"

"Bye."

Quil flinches when she slams the phone back in its cradle. "What did he want?"

"Seth," she says simply, just as the phone starts ringing again. She snatches it back viciously. " _What_ , Sam?"

Sam sighs like her father used to when she was being purposefully difficult. It's maddening. "Where is Seth?"

"Not here," she snaps, and slams the phone down again. If she had the strength, she'd laugh at Quil looking mildly in awe of her, impressed and perhaps a little pleased that someone else seems to hate Sam as much as he does.

"Well — that told him."

"He's such an _ass._ "

"Hey, you don't have to tell me. How long has Seth been running with him anyway?"

"If I have anything to do with," Leah mutters darkly, all but stabbing at the second shoe now, "he won't be. Just wait 'til my mom gets back on her feet."

"I hope so, because my grandpa thinks he shits sunshine." Quil scoffs, but it's not as unkind as it probably should be. It just sounds like he can't believe that Old Quil has taken Sam's side and not his. "Nobody believes me when I say otherwise," he carries on. "Embry and Jake used to, but . . . I haven't spoken to them in so long . . . Weeks, actually."

He sounds so sad, but somehow she doesn't think it'll do any good to tell him that his friend was standing in the same spot only yesterday. Before she'd had something close to a nervous breakdown and he'd—

Well.

It's probably best to try and put a lid on the whole thing and forget about it, but for some reason Jacob's warmth and the way he'd carried her to her bed as if he _cared,_ murmuring to her with so much . . . _kindness_ in his voice — that's something she's sure she is going to remember for a long time. She keeps being reminded, keeps thinking about it. She _can't_ forget.

She tries to push it away all the same.

(Damn Jacob Black.)

"I shouldn't have lied to him," Leah finds herself admitting. "Sam's been coming over a lot lately. He might come and check."

Quil grunts, entirely nonplussed as he leans against the counter. "Let him."

"What about you?"

"What about me?" he asks, and Leah thinks she'd probably be flattered by his sudden show of chivalry if she wasn't imagining Sam storming into her house. Everything she'd been trying to avoid by going to him. And if he comes here, then . . . it feels like a bad idea to let Quil stay, considering how mad he had been before.

She shrugs. "It wouldn't be fair, would it?"

"Too bad. We gotta stick together now, you and me. And Seth," he says, nodding to himself as if he will help protect her brother. "We can't let them win, can we?"

If only he knew.

"I guess not," she replies, wishing that she didn't have to keep things from this kid. Quil is _nice._ His easy offer of friendship has these half-truths sitting so uncomfortably in her heart. She doesn't have that many friends anymore. "I was actually getting ready to go kick his ass when you showed."

"Really?" Quil brightens a little. "That's _awesome_. I'm almost sorry I got in the way of that."

"Sorry I accused you of — uh, you know."

"Hey, don't worry about it." Quil leans across and bumps his fist lightly against her shoulder. "We're friends now, right?"

"Right," she agrees. But it makes her feel awful, and it doesn't help any when Quil grins at her so triumphantly. "Friends."


	10. nine

_something in it had a power / could barely tear my eyes away_   
_Hozier, "Arsonist's Lullabye"_

* * *

**nine.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

Quil chatters on and on as Leah picks the last bits of glass out of his shoe. He is so pleased to have someone to talk to that he can hardly stand still, and he doesn't even seem to mind that he's more or less carrying the conversation by himself. He babbles at a million words a minute, talking about everything and nothing, almost as if she's been away for a month and he's taken it upon himself to bring her up to speed with everything she's missed.

(Not what _she's_ missed, she soon realises — what Jacob and Embry have missed.)

She's going to have to bite the bullet and shove him out of the door at this rate, and she's not looking forward to it.

How upset will he be? Though with the way he keeps looking at her, with that smile which stretches from ear to ear and makes her kind of hate herself . . . Leah has this sinking feeling that the kid might just about forgive her for anything, so long as she just promises to be his friend and have his back.

And she _does_ want to be his friend, because he's so obviously in need of one and because she'd want somebody to do the same thing for her if she needed it. Quil has clearly been too lonely for a long while now and, of all people, Leah knows what that feels like. With no Rachel and no Rebecca, with no Sam and no Emily, it had started to feel like there wasn't anybody left who she could rely on.

So she lets Quil stay, just a little longer, because she understands what it is to be alone, to want company; she understands how it feels to try and fill the silences by yourself; and she knows what it's like having nobody to lean on when it hurts.

It's not that she resents looking after her mom or her little brother — she'll do that to her dying breath — but sometimes . . . sometimes she thinks it would be nice if somebody could just maybe look after _her_ for a little bit. Even if that somebody has to be Jacob, who will be there to carry her upstairs when her knees give out, or Quil, who could quite possibly explode into a wolf at any given moment.

It had been a close call on her front doorstep. She knows that. And the thought of Quil's reaction should Sam turn up and start demanding to know where Seth is makes her feel sick, if only because she knows that Quil's smile is going to dip into something which resembles betrayal when he realises she's been playing him for a fool.

The phone rings and rings and rings as he talks. They both ignore it; she stares at the shoes in the sink whilst Quil raises his voice over the shrill sound until he's almost shouting, continuing to tell her about pointless things — things like what happened gym class when Natalie Locklear said something to Ruth what's-her-face that nearly caused a cat-fight the likes of which Tribal School has never seen — which quite frankly Leah doesn't really care about, but it really is nice to listen to somebody else's voice for a change . . .

. . . until the phone starts ringing for what might be the seventeenth time, or maybe the thirtieth, and Quil emits this sort of growl from behind his teeth that makes the hairs on her arms stand up on end, and he unceremoniously yanks out the landline with such force that the receiver rattles.

Leah tries not to look too surprised at Quil's sudden boldness, but then she's never really gotten to know him all that well before. Maybe he's like this all the time. Or maybe it's something new, something to do with the thing which is slumbering inside of him, waiting for the perfect moment to let itself loose — she can't tell. But what she does know is that she doesn't want to be around when it happens, because if this goes on for much longer then Quil is only going to hate her more.

And still . . . she can't send him away.

She sighs, more at herself than anything, and says, "Quil, really, anyone would think you _want_ Sam to come."

"Why not?" His grin is slightly feral. "I'll hold him, you punch."

" _Quil."_

"What?" he asks innocently, eyes bright. "It's a solid plan. And if he turns up with the others, then I figure you can take him and I'll take the rest. If one of them is around then the others usually aren't far behind, right?"

(Funny — people used to say exactly the same about her and the twins. But she hasn't spoken to Rachel or Rebecca in weeks, and she hasn't remembered to charge her cell since the night before the world went to shit.)

He sounds like he's joking, but Leah knows better. He's probably been begging for this argument to happen for ages, and now he thinks he's got a little back-up there's nothing really stopping him from giving his best friends a piece of his mind after they've treated him like shit. And they have — if it was her, she wouldn't have stood for it either.

"Quil," she says again, desperately trying to swallow her anguish, "I understand, I really do. I mean, there's nothing I want more than to rip Sam into pieces — but not . . . not when Seth's only upstairs, okay? If they storm over here and things get too out of hand then it might make him worse, y'know?"

Quil blinks, and his recklessness descends into something apologetic as his eyes flick to the ceiling and back. "I didn't — you didn't say that."

"I thought you realised," she tells him, suddenly feeling like _she's_ the one who needs to apologise to calm whatever's brewing underneath his skin. "He's sleeping. He was out all night."

"With them?"

"I think so. Yes. I don't know," Leah says quickly, because offering anything more than that means that she'll have to tell more lies and half-truths, and she hates the sudden look of loathing which has crossed Quil's face. "I don't know where he was, but if they come—"

"They won't get him," he promises, and he says it with such conviction, such determination to keep Seth safe that she knows this kid would honestly do it if she asks — that he'd protect Seth, because he's just that loyal to this friends with no questions asked. "Honest, Leah, between the two of us, we won't let them, okay? It'll be fine. Don't worry."

"Look, I appreciate it, you've no idea, but my mom's up there too, and she's still not great and — and I think it'd be best if you just . . . go, you know, just in case."

Quil struggles with it for a moment, looking as if he's trying to search for an argument which might allow him to stay and fight this battle with her. But then he sighs, slightly deflated, defeated, and Leah knows she's won.

"Okay. Yeah — yeah, you're right."

He turns back to the phone and plugs the cord back in, though the damage has probably already been done. It wouldn't surprise her if Sam turns up in the next ten minutes or so, and then they'll really be in trouble. Because two days ago Sam followed her into her bedroom to make sure that she would keep their secret, and when he sees her with Quil he will know that she's recognised the kid for what he is — what he's going to be.

(Emily's face springs to mind, and no — that definitely wasn't a bear attack.)

It's such a mess.

Leah wishes that she could tell Quil. In all honesty, she feels no better than she did when she thought Sam and Emily were carrying on behind her back. She hates secrets, and always has, if not more so since she realised that Sam was keeping them from her. They wreck everything. And she's frightened that this secret is going to wreck Quil, as surely as it has almost wrecked her brother.

Leah passes Quil his right shoe, now free of glass and casserole but looking slightly stained still, and knows her face is a mirror image of his. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah. Me too," he says glumly, reluctantly slipping on his shoes. "You'll be okay?"

Leah can only nod, but Quil doesn't seem all that sure. "I don't have to go, you know. If you're worried—"

"I'm not. I'll be fine."

He still doesn't believe her. "I promise to be on my best behaviour if they come knocking," he says earnestly. "I won't even talk, if that's what you want. Just . . . let me stay in case they come here."

But Leah just wipes her hands on her jeans and shakes her head. She's being selfish; he needs to go, for his own good.

She opens the fridge and reaches for the first casserole she sees, quickly dumping its contents in the trash before washing out the dish as Quil watches in uneasy silence. He's not happy, but she has nothing left to offer him.

"It'll be okay," she tells him. She hopes she sounds convincing enough. "I'll call, yeah?"

"If you're sure," he replies, sounding anything less than — but he seems to have gotten the hint all the same. Thank God.

So why does she feel so bad?

Leah sighs over the sound of the sound of running water and the phone which has begun ringing again. "I'm sure."

* * *

A familiar, little red car is driving down the street when they step outside, and Leah feels Quil tense beside her as he recognises it at the same time she does.

"On second thought," he says, his mouth tight as the car seems to speed up, "I think I might stay."

"What happened to your best behaviour?" she teases, but the words don't feel quite right on her lips.

The car comes to a ground-breaking halt before them, its door swinging open before momentum is completely lost, and when Jacob leaps out Leah knows she's in trouble.

She straightens, almost defensively, rallying what feels like forgotten strength as Jacob's blazing, possessive gaze roves over her. He's looking for something, searching as he takes in every inch of her, and it's the strangest thing but it's almost like she can _feel_ his disapproval, his radiating fury . . . and a little bit of something else.

Leah lifts her chin, and refuses to baulk underneath his stare.

"Do you want me to stay?" she hears Quil ask, but he sounds a bit far away even though she knows he's right beside her still. "I can stay. I don't mind."

Jacob's eyes lock on Quil, and possession morphs seamlessly into malice. And it's frightening.

Quil growls.

Their only saving grace from this — she hopes — is Billy is in the passenger seat, who mercifully demands Jacob's attention at the same time Quil puts his hand on her elbow with surprising gentleness. "Leah?"

"Huh?"

"You want me to stick around?"

"It's fine. It's just Billy, right?" she says, suddenly a little bit too weak for her own liking.

Quil scowls. "And Jacob."

"And Jacob," she agrees, turning her attention back on him. He talks quietly, furiously with his father as he lifts him out of the car, arguing about something or the other — though she thinks she can take a pretty wild guess as to what they're so heatedly discussing.

"I'm gonna stay," Quil says firmly.

"No!" Leah whirls on him. " _No."_

"What?" Quil looks both outraged and offended. "Leah, he was . . . _looking_ at you. Like you're something to _eat._ That's not okay."

"He's probably just mad because he had to drive his dad or something, and—" (fuck, she is such an awful person) "—and, well, if he's running with Sam now then he's not going to like me, is he?"

"I'm not so sure," Quil says lowly, eyes narrowing as he looks back at Jacob.

Jacob glares right back and lurches a step forward, halted only by Billy who shakes his head and holds up a hand, as if to say, _Wait_. And Jacob — he balls his fists as his sides and shifts his hot gaze back onto Leah. He looks utterly _livid_ — but at her or because of his father, or maybe both, she can't work out.

Leah tries to remember herself and pushes the empty, clean dish into Quil's chest. "It'll be fine, I promise. I bet Billy just wants to see how my mom's doing, and then they'll go. Any funny business and I'll kick his ass, okay?"

Quil manages a snort. "Right."

"Your confidence is flattering."

"I didn't—"

"I know, I was kidding," she says with false amusement, all but shoving the dish at him now. "Go on."

Quil's fingers curl around the dish and he looks down at it, at Jacob, and then back to her — and then, God _damn_ it, he shakes his head and pushes it back into her hands. "I'll come back for it. Later."

Leah knows better than to fight, to do anything which will keep Quil on her drive for a second longer, so she just nods and says, "Alright."

"You'll be okay? You'll call?"

"Sure I will. Yeah."

Quil chews his lip, and for a second she really thinks that he's not going to leave, but then without warning he wraps up in his arms and almost lifts her off her feet. She has to put the dish flat against her stomach, and it digs in.

"Quil—"

"Thank you," he whispers quietly.

Leah can't help but huff a laugh into his shirt, thrown off by his sudden surge of affection. "What for?"

"Believing me." He gives her a funny little squeeze. "Be careful," he mutters then, and just as quickly he's gone, all but tearing across the driveway and down the street. He very purposefully shoves past a stone-faced Jacob before he breaks into a run and disappears completely out of sight.

Leah stares after him, her skin burning in his wake, and feels like she might cry.

But then Billy clears his throat, breaking her miserable train of thought as he pushes himself steadily up the path towards her. He doesn't need to admonish her — it's written all over his face; she _knows_ that look, she's grown up with it, and it's almost as bad as one of her mother's reprimands.

Almost.

"You're going to have to help me inside, kiddo," he grunts out.

Leah looks up for Jacob, but he's nowhere to be seen.


	11. ten

_casting love on me as if it were a spell i could not break / when it was a promise i could not make_   
_Mumford & Sons, "Hold On To What You Believe"_

* * *

**ten.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

Billy Black has known Sue Clearwater since they were children. He was Harry's best friend, his best man. His brother. He is Seth's godfather. So Leah believes it stands to reason, surely, that if he hasn't learned by now the Clearwaters live by their own rules then he never will.

She has been watching — _spying_ — rather inconspicuously through the window as the man tries his damned best to coax Sue back into some semblance of living, but even after an hour or so he's still apparently unable to understand that it's only something the woman is clearly only going to do when she's good and ready.

And Sue is not ready. At the moment she just looks unnervingly fragile, like a light breeze will easily knock her over and shatter her into pieces.

Ordinarily, Leah would have stood her ground and let her mother be. She would have told Billy just where exactly he could stick his nosy interference, but . . . well, it's been four days since Harry died, and not even having Seth back in the house has changed anything.

Leah hasn't said it out loud, but it's Sue's lack of awareness of Seth which has her worried more than anything else. The little punk has always been the light of their family; he is the favourite, the brightest, and Leah had really believed that he was going to be the game changer once he came home again. And yet Sue had barely blinked at his return.

So Leah is willing to let Billy try. He is the Chief, after all, and the Chief should know what to do when nobody else does. She will let the man soothe his own ego, let him fulfil his incessant need to try and _fix_ things within his tribe, even if it only results in her mom telling him to leave. At least that would be something.

Sue _has_ to snap at some point. It feels like they're all on tenterhooks, waiting for it, waiting for some kind of dramatic reaction. And it'll happen soon — it just has to. Maybe not for a few days yet, and only on Sue's own terms. Not anyone else's. Not hers, not Seth's, and certainly not Billy's.

The man is being very, very careful, as if he anticipates the very same — a snap. Leah watches the way he handles her mom like she is a frightened kitten, and what might be worse is that the comparison is accurate. Leah can almost hear his sage, quiet tone from the patio, can _see_ her mother's discomfort in the way she shies away—

—but it's Jacob who Leah can feel behind her, quietly watching her just as closely as she is watching their parents.

He's not made a sound and she doesn't understand how she just knows he is there — she just _does_ — and quite frankly, it frightens the living shit out of her. Enough that it's a small mercy she manages to keep her eyes trained on her mother and her voice steady as she speaks.

"Where did you go?"

Jacob's gulp is audible, but something (a sixth sense?) tells Leah that it's not because he's afraid. "If we get too angry . . ."

"It gets ugly," she finishes for him, remembering his cautionary words — only yesterday, in this very room. Leah thinks maybe she should start getting out more; since Harry died she's only left for his funeral and it feels as if she has been cooped up in this kitchen since. It's starting to drive her insane.

"Yes," Jacob says hoarsely from behind her.

There's a heavy pause, and she knows he is watching with her as her mom buries her face in her hands. She knows that he, too, can see how suddenly so very small Sue seems in the bathrobe she was wrapped up in before being brought downstairs. It does less to hide those awful pale, sharp features than Leah had hoped, though, and somehow makes all those meals which her mom has refused a little more obvious.

Leah briefly closes her eyes. She's failing. She needs to do better, be better.

She breathes deep, steadying herself and listening as Jacob shuffles on his feet like he wants to take a step closer but doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know, either.

"Are you okay?"

God. She wishes his voice didn't wash over her like that. When did _that_ start happening? She wants to turn around and face him, but she knows what she will see. He will have that look. The one she doesn't know what to do with except stand her ground and hope that he breaks first. The one that burns and burns, that feels like Jacob is _seeing_ her more deeply than she usually allows the naked eye.

It means something, the way he has been looking at her. It's more than him watching out for her little brother, more than him whispering poems in Quileute and sharing secrets in this kitchen. It's more than him being a second away from tearing poor Quil into pieces on the driveway.

And just like her mom, she is not ready. For this, whatever it is. And she wishes it would just . . . stop. Whatever this is, whatever it threatens, she wishes that it would just _stop_.

"Leah?"

"No," she answers honestly. There's no use in lying. She has a feeling he'll know. "Are you?"

"No."

She's pretty sure at this point that she'd know if Jacob lied, too, and she finds herself grateful that he doesn't. She doesn't need or have time for more dishonesty on this reservation.

He takes a ragged breath. "Leah—"

For the first time that day, she is relieved for the interruption of the ringing phone. Relieved that, when she finally spins around, Jacob has fixed his heated gaze on it instead of burning holes in her back. He glares at the phone as if it has ruined something somehow, his expression halfway between desperate and murderous.

"It's for you," she says.

Jacob's jaw tightens. "Sam."

"He's been calling non-stop."

"Why?"

She shrugs, wanting to pretend she doesn't care but also wanting to keep her nerve as Jacob turns his eyes back on her. "He seems pretty mad. He said you sent Seth away before you were supposed to."

"Good," is all Jacob grunts out before he finally reaches for the phone.

His answer surprises her, but then, she thinks, maybe not. After all, Jacob has become her unlikely ally, she reminds herself, apparently having appointed himself Seth's advocate in, well . . . everything, really: finding him, bringing him home, sending him home again — even knowing it would piss Sam off.

He seems to be on her side, too, though she can't help but wonder whether the solidarity he's shown might come with conditions. It's not as if Quil looked at her like _that_ , did he? _He_ didn't make her squirm when offering the same thing.

 _Nobody_ makes her squirm. And yet . . .

"Sam," Jacob answers. "Yeah, it's me. He's upstairs, I can hear him. I _told_ you he would — no, that was Quil."

Sucking in a breath as he listens, his argument building, Jacob looks furious again — more so, if it can be believed. "He's gone now, don't worry. I know. Yeah. I _know—"_

He looks at her suddenly, their eyes meeting. "She's here. Wait a sec," he says, and holds the phone out.

"Tell him to go fuck himself."

Jacob presses his lips together, fighting a smile. It's a nice change from the frown. "She says no. Jeez, she's _fine_ , Sam. Chill out."

Leah scoffs nastily. Really? Like Sam is honestly worried about her! For all he was around before the funeral, following her around and waiting for her at the top of the stairs, Leah hasn't seen hide or hair of him since.

"Yep, 'kay, fine. I'll be here. Bye."

"You edited," Leah accuses when Jake puts the phone back with a grunt.

"Do you want him to come here?" he asks, and nods when she doesn't answer. "I didn't think so. He told me to tell you to stay away from Quil. And charge your cell."

She's torn between laughing or scowling in her outrage. Sam might think he rules Jacob's life, might even think he rules Seth's life, but he does _not_ rule hers and he never has. "What's he gonna do about it?" she asks hotly. "The kid's absolutely terrified that he's next."

Jacob sighs, but doesn't look away. "He _is_ next."

"So you're gonna make it worse by isolating him? I feel like shit for lying to him. What do I say when he comes back, huh? That I kicked your ass, like he asked me to?"

"If it makes you feel better," Jake offers with a small, unsure smile, "I think he'll believe you. You're pretty good at the whole ass-kickin' thing when you want to be, and he did look like . . . well, you know. Like _that_."

"Like _what?_ "

"Like —" Jacob's voice dips a little, his eyes turning a little more wild than she expects. "Like he _likes_ you."

Another strange laugh bubbles inside of her throat. "Problem, Jacob?"

"No. Of course not," he says, but it's a little too quick, a little too automatic, and in spite of her frustration she can't help but smirk.

"I didn't think you cared," she croons, unable to stop herself even as he accepts the challenge in her voice and pushes himself away from the wall.

He begins to stalk across her kitchen, his scowl etched deep into his face as he moves closer and closer towards her. Everything about him says that he is not fazed by her taunts, her bitchiness or her temper. These horrible, nasty traits which have always been hers in one way or another but feel like they have manifested into something all the more terrible since her life began careering in a downward spiral.

(Did it start when Sam left? Or when Rebecca didn't come home? Before? Will she always be this way?)

He is so close than Leah can feel his breath when he warns, "Quil is dangerous, Leah. You shouldn't—"

"More dangerous than the rest of you?" she snaps, holding her ground. "Quil is _frightened_ , Jacob, not dangerous. He's your friend!"

Jacob has the decency to look a little ashamed and her words seem to bring him up short — enough that he stops in his tracks, and the . . . _burning_ look in his eyes which she is quickly becoming all too familiar with fades into sadness.

He swallows thickly, silent for a moment as he tries to find his next words. For some reason, he looks a little hurt. And then, "You . . . You don't think I'm dangerous, do you?"

"No," she answers honestly, because that's not what she meant or why her heart is hammering so. "And I don't believe Quil is, not really."

"Aside from the possibility of turning into a wolf at any given moment and ripping your face in two," he remarks, deadpan, and Leah knows without doubt now what really happened to her cousin.

She ignores the rolling of her stomach, the sudden sympathy she feels and extinguishes just as quickly. She wonders if that makes her truly heartless, if she is as cold and unforgiving as people are starting to believe despite it being _Emily_ who is the traitor.

"Aside from that," Leah agrees, throat dry, but it only seems to frustrate Jacob further.

"So _why_ ," he demands, pleadingly enough that she is again wondering what has changed between the two of them that makes him care so much. "If you know you could be hurt—"

"He's lonely, Jake. I know what that's like, and it's not as much fun as I make it out to be."

Although Jacob looks like he wants to protest even though he knows that it's true, he doesn't have an immediate answer. He ducks his gaze and she finally pulls away from him, focusing back on her mom sitting in the yard still with Billy, idly wondering if the Chief has learned his lesson to not push a Clearwater yet.

Jacob comes to stand beside her by the kitchen counter and sighs deeply as he leans against it, closing the distance between them again. "Quil . . . Sam reckons it will be really soon. He can feel it, he says. He'll know the truth soon enough."

"Yeah," Leah mutters. "And when he becomes like you, he's going to hate me when he realises that not only did I _know_ but that I _didn't tell him_."

"He won't hate you. Nobody hates you."

Jacob's words are quick, automatic, meant to appease her quickly rather than agree with anything she says. It's irritating, like a parent soothing their child even if it means they have to lie just because of a natural instinct to comfort.

"Maybe. Maybe not. It doesn't matter. In the end . . . people just stop bothering when all you do is bite their head off. I'm sure you will too, soon enough."

"Nah. I kinda like it," he says, apparently shocking himself as much as he does her with the admission. And then, with an embarrassed look down at her, he adds, "What I mean, is . . . You're honest. A bit brutal, sure, but at least I know what's really on your mind, how you really feel, y'know?" He scratches the back of his neck, still embarrassed. "That's what Rach and Beck always used to say, anyway."

She scoffs next to his shoulder. "What do they know. I'll be surprised if they remember who I am."

Leah misses the twins something fierce, her sisters in all but blood. And she might understand now — better than she ever has before, anyway — why Rebecca's put three thousand miles between herself and La Push in order to breathe right, why Rachel keeps her college-life and her Rez-life as separate as possible . . . but she is angry with them for not being able to come for just _one day_ to hold her hand at Harry's funeral like she'd held theirs at Sarah's seven years ago.

Jacob simply grins down at her as if he's single-handedly discovered a worldwide problem in her response. "See?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Leah rolls her eyes and looks away, wondering if he can tell that it hurts to look at him and be reminded of her friends. She often sees them winking back at her in his face. She sees Rachel's sheer nerve and her wilfulness; Rebecca's sincerity and her compassion; both of their wit and their humour. And he is so, so like his sisters that sometimes her chest aches when she pays enough attention to him to be reminded of that.

Still triumphant, Jacob nudges her with his arm which is as hot as when he carried her up the stairs and held her in one piece whilst she cried. She doesn't recall him leaving afterwards, but she knows he stayed until she succumbed to her exhaustion.

"Are you staying?" _Again,_ she adds silently. Not to be unkind, rather because she is wondering if she needs to thank him although though she's not certain exactly what it is she'd be saying thank you for.

She feels him tense, he's still that close. "You want me to go?"

"You said to Sam you'd be here—"

"Oh." Jacob relaxes, leaning his weight against the counter. Their backs are to the window. "He asked me to stick around."

"To keep an eye on me?"

"Something like that," Jacob admits with an air of guilt.

"Because of Quil or because of what you told me? About this imprinting thing?" Knowing Sam, she thinks, it would make sense why he seems so pissed after spending so long keeping his betrayal a secret.

"Actually . . . he doesn't know I told you that."

"But how?" Leah frowns. "What about the wolf thing? Reading each other's minds and having no privacy?"

"He hasn't caught me yet," Jacob says, but his show of cocky arrogance is a little shaky and has her frowning again when her mother shuffles through the back door, looking for all the world as if she wishes she could hide completely in that robe.

They both immediately push away from the counter, and Jacob's warmth is a sudden loss at her side as she goes to her mom and he goes to his dad to help the wheelchair over the threshold.

Billy's heavy, concerned eyes tell Leah that he hasn't made any progress; he's disappointed and frustrated, lips in a thin line. She kind of wants to say _I told you so,_ except she didn't really tell him and he's never appreciated her impertinence. (Billy has always believed she is the bad influence on his daughters, not the other way around. And — fine, he's not wrong, but she's not going to tell him that.)

They don't speak, but they do sigh together as Sue starts making her retreat back up the stairs. At least she looks like she's still breathing underneath that robe.

Feeling Jacob's eyes on her again, Leah thinks her mom might be the only one who is.


	12. eleven

_i've no language left to say it / all i do is crave to her_   
_Hozier, "Foreigner's God"_

* * *

**eleven.**

* * *

_(Jacob)_

"You gonna tell me what that's about?" Billy asks quietly. His eyebrows are high as he looks pointedly between where Jacob stands at the side of his wheelchair, arms crossed, and the doorway which Leah disappeared through as she trailed after her mom.

"What's about what?" Jacob replies with as much innocence as he can muster. He feels shaky, but not like he does when he's trying to fight a phase triggered by his temper. This is something else — something much more akin to the feeling of standing on the edge of the cliffs before he dives into the grey waters below.

(Adrenaline, he vaguely recalls with some difficulty. Being so close to Leah, so . . . _familiar_ with her in a way he's not been for years has his heart in his throat and blood singing.)

"You run off when Quil's standing on her doorstep with his arms around her—" his dad begins, and it's an effort from Jacob to keep a snarl leashed at the reminder "—and now you're staring after her like you'll never see her again."

His eyes snap back to his father. He knows he really needs to leash more than a single snarl, especially if he's going to try and keep this a secret for much longer. He can't afford to be defensive.

"I'm not," he says in spite of himself, arms still crossed over his chest and his fingers curled right in his armpits.

Billy's smirk is uncomfortably all too-knowing and, Jacob thinks, slightly smug. "You can't fool this old man, son."

"She's having a hard time. I know what it's like. That's all."

"Is it really?"

Jacob scowls, dropping his hands. "You get all weird and intense when you're being cryptic. Kinda reminds me of when you were trying to tell me your superstitious nonsense wasn't really nonsense at all — and doing a bad job of it, too," he replies hotly. Unkindly. Defensive again. Damn it all to hell.

Nonplussed, Billy sits back in his chair and folds his hands in his lap. "Nonsense or not, I know what it is to keep a secret. And for what it's worth—"

"You don't know anything, Dad." He really, really doesn't. He might be on the Council, might be held in a higher regard than the rest of the men that sit there, but Billy knows nothing of what it is to be . . . _this._

"I think you'd be surprised."

Calming his face into something a little less hostile — and doubtful that he'll be able to manage it — Jacob changes the subject before he gets himself in deeper waters. Billy has raised two daughters; he knows how to get information if he really wants it, especially from their brother who always covered for them, and Jacob refuses to fall into any kind of trap his dad might be trying to set.

Jacob blows a breath that betrays his frustration. Too bad. "Do you need me to take you home?"

"Why, where are you going?" Billy asks quickly, jolted from his private conspiracies. "You were on patrol all night."

 _Yes_ , Jacob thinks, _and I was less than an hour into my sleep when you woke me up for a ride here_. But instead he says, "I'm coming back. Sam wants me to stick around. Keep Quil away."

"How long will it be?"

"Soon," Jacob tells him, knowing what his father really means. "A few days, maybe. Less. So if you're going home—"

"I wanted to head over to Charlie's, actually," Billy says, and he sounds a little apologetic about it now that he knows Sam's orders are involved. Billy might be the Chief, but only in name — Sam is the real Chief, the real Alpha, for as long as Jacob refuses the title. It would be kind of weird, anyway, Jacob thinks, to have his dad looking at him for direction if he assumed the job.

"I was hoping you might come, too," Billy continues within the quiet of Clearwaters' kitchen. Jacob doubts that his father can hear Leah talking to Sue upstairs like he can, nor that he can hear the stutter in Seth's low snores as though the kid is dreaming. "Charlie's been going out of his mind, and considering you were the last person to see her . . ."

Bella. Has she saved her bloodsucker yet, who she is so willing to die for? Maybe she's already dead.

Jacob swallows uncomfortably, feeling more terrible for Charlie than he does himself. It's a far cry from the mess he had been in his garage two days ago, and the sudden change might have seemed jarring if the imprint hadn't completely obliterated his growing feelings for Bella.

"You know she might not come home, right? We'll be going to another funeral within the week, only this time it will be a sham."

He regrets the words as soon as he says them, hearing Billy's sharp intake of breath. He also feels like he's betrayed Leah somehow, saying something he knows she'd hate, using her father to drive his point home about Bella and the choices she's made. It feels wrong, too.

Jacob swallows, appropriately shamed. "Sorry."

His dad reaches up and pats his arm. "Don't worry about it," he says. "You know, maybe I'll just call ahead first and see if he's home. Don't think Sue will mind if I use her phone, do you?" he asks then, but he's already pushing his chair over the tiled floor and towards the wall where the phone sits in its cradle.

"'Kay. I'm gonna check on Seth, see how he's doing."

Billy turns his head back. "I think Leah might have that one covered, Jake."

"All the same," he mumbles, shrugging. He can't tell anyone that the silence upstairs worries him, that it's not really Seth he's worried for. That after standing so close to Leah without her protesting, her scent in his nose and her warmth against his side . . . it hurts now, her absence.

The piercing look Jacob receives from his father is just a raised bushy brow shy of curious, but he ignores it and escapes from the kitchen before he has to explain himself. It would be just the damn pinnacle of his life if his father really knew what was going on.

Was that what the smug look had been? Shit, Jacob hopes not. The Council, Sam, the pack — they will all know before the sun has set, if Billy has figured it out.

Jacob's gut clenches as he takes the stairs two at a time. His father is a proud, traditional old man; he was damn near triumphant when his son phased for the first time, and he will be freakin' _euphoric_ if he's ever able to announce that same son has imprinted. God knows what he would have done if Jacob had asked Sam to step down and returned home as Alpha.

It doesn't bear thinking about.

So he doesn't. He listens for Leah, for Seth, and stops short just before he reaches the top of the stairs when he hears the kid's sleepy, muffled voice.

"Leah?"

"You're okay," she murmurs, and Jacob cranes his head around the banister, feeling like an intruder.

Her back is to him as she sits on the edge of Seth's bed, the door slightly ajar and blocking the kid's face from Jacob's view. She shushes her brother, her hand reaching out to soothe him. "You were just dreaming. You're okay."

"It . . . It was _so real . . ._ "

Seth gulps, his breathing coming in fits and starts, and Leah keeps up her constant murmur of nothings and smoothing his hair down as he slowly but surely calms down. Jacob can't bear to imagine trembling limbs and how close Seth might've been to—

No. He refuses to imagine it. Not after just barely getting over seeing her with Quil, who could have cracked at any God given moment.

Jacob wants to trust Leah. He does. He's going to have to if he has a chance at surviving being away from her, because she'll surely kill him herself if he hovers around her for any longer — not without him being able to provide her a better excuse than Sam being concerned for her safety. He's sure of this, because he has known her for all his life; he has long learned that she likes her space. When they were younger, she had a habit of going off for hours on her own until Harry started calling around the Rez, looking for her, only to find her sitting in a tree or on one of the beaches.

And yet . . . Seth is young. Quil hasn't even been broken in. Does she even realise what could happen to her if—

Jacob sits at the top of the stairs and takes a quiet, steadying breath, painfully aware that it's the imprint which has him so concerned and frightened that she'll be hurt like Emily. Worse than Emily. No wonder Sam's tail is so bent out of shape after what happened, what he did.

"Come on," Leah says, her voice the kind of soft which Jacob knows it only ever is when she's talking to or about her brother. "Try and go back to sleep, yeah?"

"It was so real," Seth whispers again. "I thought . . ."

Leah doesn't ask, but Jacob can feel her worry. "Sleep. It's okay," she says instead.

He sniffs. "Lee?"

"Yeah?"

It takes a minute for Seth to speak again. And when he does, his words are hesitant. "Does Mom . . . Do you hate me?"

"No!" The sharp sound from Leah is just on the edge of a yell. "No. I don't hate you, Seth. I hate what's happened to you, but I don't hate _you._ Never."

"But if I hadn't—"

"You couldn't help that," Leah tells him firmly. There is a long, sad moment of silence, and then, "Seth, you know it's not your fault, right?"

"But—"

" _No,_ Seth. He had a bad heart since he was a kid, way before he married Mom. And he didn't look after himself like he should have. You know that. He liked fish fry too much."

Either realising that he's fighting a losing battle or he's too upset to answer, Seth is quiet again. Jacob, meanwhile, shifts his body quietly down several stairs. Partly because he _is_ an intruder on this moment, and partly because he doesn't want to be found so blatantly eavesdropping.

"It's not your fault," Leah says again. "If anything, you should have been told. Warned, I don't know."

Seth's harsh gulp is audible from where Jacob sits with his keen ears. "They didn't know. I remember . . . they all thought I was Quil." There is a prickle to the words, and Jacob recognises it as the same automatic defensiveness the pack has for one another whether Seth intends it or not. It's instinctual for him, now, and Jacob is proud.

It doesn't lessen Leah's resent, even though she's already more or less been told the same thing. That they weren't watching or waiting for her little brother because he is so young. "Would it have made it easier?" she asks. "If someone had told you?"

"I wouldn't have believed them."

"If they had," she persists, "and then you realised it was all true. Whether you believed them or not. You think you'd feel differently now?"

"Dunno," Seth mumbles. "Maybe, I guess, if Dad had been the one to . . . but—"

"But he didn't," she finishes for him.

"Doesn't matter now, does it?" Seth sighs with what sounds like hopelessness, and Jacob hears a shuffle on the bed as though the kid is rolling over, turning his back to the world.

Leah stays with him a while after that, long enough that Billy has finished his phone call with Charlie and has pushed his chair down the hallway from the kitchen. Jacob stands on the stairs and squares his shoulders, meeting his father's gaze, ready to be told that they need to leave and drive to Forks.

But Billy shakes his head and, after what he's been listening to, Jacob can't care less if his relief shows.

"Gonna coast it home," his father says, weathered hands on the wheels of his chair. "Charlie's gonna meet me there."

"Is she home?"

"No. He hasn't heard anything, but it's not doing him any good sitting at home and waiting for her."

Charlie will be doing a lot of that, Jacob thinks, if Bella's eyes are red. But this time he doesn't voice his bitter remarks and instead he dutifully helps his father over the doorstep before waving him off down the drive.

When he turns back into the house, Leah is sitting on exactly the same stair he'd been on not two minutes ago. There's some sort of twisted satisfaction in it, where she sits and stares at him, and it belongs wholly to the imprint. The reasonable part of Jacob — however small it might be, now — resents the sense of possession. The other part of him revels in it.

Leah purses her lips together thoughtfully as she considers him. Jacob finds that he quite likes that, too. "I want to do something you're going to think is stupid," she says in response to his questioning look.

"You want to tell Quil."

She's not even a little surprised that he knows what it is she wants to do. Instead she nods, her resolve clear and bright in her tired brown eyes.

"You're right," he agrees, sounding a little resigned about it even to himself. "I do think that's really stupid."

"Are you going to stop me?"

"Since when has anyone ever been able to stop you from doing what you wanted?" Jacob almost laughs, and a small smile plays at her lips. But she seems pleased, either with herself or what he's said. Perhaps even both.

"I thought it might fall into your whole 'sticking around and keeping Leah out of trouble' thing," she says. "You're not even going to talk me out of it?"

"Nope." He might have known what she was planning to do as soon as he'd heard her question Seth, but she doesn't know what _he's_ going to do. "I'm coming with you."


	13. twelve

_i'm waking up my mind, i'm just trying to kill the silence / i'm ripping off the blinds, i'm just trying to let some light in_   
_Ruel, "Hard Sometimes"_

* * *

**twelve.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

Jacob simply smirks in the long moment of silence which follows, evidently amused that he's managed to catch her so off-guard.

"What did you expect?" he asks after watching her blink stupidly.

"Well . . . a fight, honestly," Leah admits quietly. After having been building herself up for an argument she wasn't going to back down on, the last thing she expected was for him to so easily agree with her — let alone for him to announce that he plans to tag along, too. "What happened to it being a terrible idea?"

"It is a terrible idea," Jake says all-too-agreeably, that smirk still on his face which makes him look closer to his sixteen years than it does the rest of his body.

"So remind me again why you're not going to stop me?" she asks, frowning in her disbelief and confusion after he's so vehemently insisted that Quil is dangerous. Not forgetting that he has been given his orders from Sam (the bastard), who has essentially made Jacob her babysitter to stop her from doing exactly this.

(Because as much as she hates it, as much as she hates _him_ , Sam knows her. He knows how she hates secrets and being kept in the dark, which makes it ridiculous to suggest that Quil is the one who he's really worried about. After years of living in one another's pockets, Sam would quickly have put two and two together and known exactly what it is she wants to do before she managed to figure it out for herself.)

Jacob shrugs. "There's really no point. As soon as you're out of my sight you'll just go and find Quil anyway."

(And apparently Jacob knows her too, which surprisingly — or rather _unsurprisingly,_ given how the rest of this day is going — doesn't piss her off as much.)

"This way I can at least make sure you don't get torn to pieces while you do it," Jacob continues in the same light tone despite that he is talking about placing himself between her and certain death — or permanent disfigurement, Leah thinks as her cousin's face comes to mind once again.

"You don't need to say it quite like that," she mutters. She wants to tell Quil, she _has_ to tell Quil, otherwise this secret is going to eat her up and swallow her whole . . . but now she can't help wonder if she's doing it for the right reasons. _She_ might think it's the right thing to do, but will Quil see it that way?

Jacob's shit-eating smirk turns slightly grim. "Doubting yourself?"

She narrows her eyes accusingly. "Now I am."

"Don't. It's the right thing to do. I would have told him myself already if I could."

"What do you . . ." she starts, then she suddenly remembers their conversation yesterday morning — before she'd had something close to the meltdown she still won't (or can't) acknowledge. "Oh. Right. Alpha."

"Yep," he says, lips popping. "Can't breathe a word about it, so you're going to have to do most of the talking. The first part, at least. I'll be choking on thin air otherwise."

"That's if he doesn't explode first."

Jake shakes his head, eyes rolling. "It's called phasing, you know." He steps closer and holds his hand out, which she reaches out for almost instinctively, allowing him to hoist her up from where she sits on the stairs. "And even if he does, which I kind of think he will, then I'll have to tell him all about it anyway. So no big deal, right? Just . . . make sure you're not standing too close to him, okay?"

"Right. God forbid you have a coronary or something," she says without thinking. She freezes on the last word, her fingers slipping from Jake's and her eyes flickering over the banister towards the living room where Harry fell, and she swallows thickly.

"Hey," Jake breathes softly after what might be a minute. Two. Longer. The whole world is spinning. "Look at me."

Leah casts her eyes down towards where this annoying kid she's known forever (and who both confuses and frightens the living shit out of her) stands at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her, and she gives a shaky smile that even she wouldn't believe if she saw herself in the mirror.

"That was a bad joke, huh?"

Jacob returns her smile. It's steadier than her own, yet sadder and softer. "I took out the rug, you know. It's outside."

"I didn't notice," she says quietly, oddly touched underneath how sick she feels with herself. She is no less off balance, but . . . _sure,_ somehow, like there's something to hold on to and right herself with even as everything else goes to shit. She doesn't know what exactly, and yet she's certain of it all the same.

"I can put it back, if you want."

"No." Leah recalls how it'd looked: shredded, ugly, its patterns near unrecognisable as she'd picked up the scraps of Seth's clothes afterwards. "I mean, it's ruined anyway."

He nods. "That's what I thought."

"I . . ." Leah sucks in a quiet breath. "Thanks."

"Sure, sure," he says, as though it's nothing at all. He offers his warm hand out again, and she finds herself taking it not just because she wants to walk down the last few stairs feeling somewhat steadier. "You wanna leave a note or something?"

"No. They'll be fine." Her mom is staring at the ceiling again and Seth is doing his best to feign sleep. "Are we walking or driving over?"

Jacob considers her for a few seconds, his fingers still wrapped around hers. "Better drive. If shit hits the fan then I don't want you to have to walk back."

She blinks. "You'd let me drive your car?"

"Why not?"

"You love your car," she says. "You spent all of Christmas dinner trying to tell Bella how amazing it was. The Coolest Car in the World, remember?"

Jacob's eyebrows shoot up. "You were listening to that?"

"I think everyone _except_ Bella listened to that," Leah says tartly, thinking back to three months ago when he'd sat across from the Swan girl at the makeshift dinner table they'd put together to accommodate their three families. Bella might have well as not been there at all with her dead eyes and broken heart.

The reminder of Charlie's daughter has Leah freeing her fingers from Jacob's, because she remembers more than last Christmas — she remembers the huge crush he has on the girl, too, and for some inexplicable reason there is a flare of anger in her chest at the thought.

Leah tries to reason with herself that it's because Jacob deserves more than a pale-faced girl who barely uttered a word to him at Christmas, who has spent months becoming his friend and has instead chosen the vampires and Italy and blood and death. Jacob is a good kid. Kind, even when nobody gives him good reason to be.

"Have you heard from her?" Leah asks then, unable to help herself. She reaches for her jacket hanging off the peg on the wall, plucks her house keys from the bowl on the side, and pretends she's asking for a reason other than morbid curiosity as she slips her arms into her jacket.

"No," Jacob answers, and when Leah snatches a glance at his face there is a scowl upon it which he's directed at the floor. "Why?"

Leah tips her head back, freeing her trapped hair from the collar of her jacket with a swipe of her fingers just so that she doesn't have to meet his eyes. And, hoping her tone is casual enough, she says, "No reason. Just wondering when I need to kidnap you and Seth before war breaks out."

"Me _and_ Seth?"

"Why not? I'll take Quil, too."

Jacob snorts softly. "Okay, Little Engine That Could. Let's see if that works against Sam."

She tilts her chin in a show of bravery. "You just leave Sam to me."

"Happily," he says before gesturing to the door, a wide and sweeping motion. "Lead the way, Little Engine."

Leah skips past him with her head high, throwing a particularly rude gesture over her shoulder her mom would kill her for as she goes. Jacob only laughs.

* * *

In the car, Jacob's hulking frame seems to take up every inch of free space even with his seat pushed back as far as it can go and then some.

He grins when he catches her staring in bewilderment that he can fit, let alone _drive_ the thing looking as comfortable as he is. His huge, solid arm keeps bumping into hers when he changes gear. "I had to kind of break the seat," he explains. "It was like sitting in one of those red and yellow toy cars."

"Kind of?"

"Ripped out the suspension assembly and made my own." He grins again with a small colour of self-consciousness tinting his cheeks. "And the seat pan," he adds. "I had to weld that."

"Too bad for anyone sitting in the back," she remarks, covering how slightly awed she is that he actually seems like he knows what he's doing around cars. Most boys pretended just to save face. "Seth and Quil will be really cramped. We'll have to get a new car. Bigger."

Jacob's eyes widen with mock horror. "That hurts my feelings."

"Feeling," she corrects.

"Rude. I was going to say that we should just tie Quil to the roof, but I think you can take that honour."

More than happy to take the distraction and play along, Leah simply laughs. "You can try." There's something easy in being able to joke with Jacob even if it's obvious their hearts are not quite in it. "Don't suppose there's anyone else we need to make room for, is there?"

"Embry," Jake answers automatically. "He can go in the trunk. The rest of them can stay behind and sort it out for themselves."

"Poor Sam," she says with as little sympathy as she can. It's not difficult.

"He'll be furious. But, hey, whatever. I'm already a dead man. What can he do?"

Leah can't think why he's in any kind of trouble, especially when it's not as if he's done anything wrong. Except for maybe sending Seth home before he was supposed to, but then Jacob has been saying a lot of things which don't make sense lately — almost like he can't stop himself from doing it.

"How dead?" she ventures with slight hesitancy. "What have you done?"

"Sam will probably say it's what I'm doing rather than what I've done," Jacob mutters, hands tight on the steering wheel and voice so low that Leah knows he's talking more to himself than he is her.

"You know, I think you forget that I don't have unbidden access to your mind," she reminds him lightly, "so I don't know what you mean."

"I know," he says with a slight sigh Leah has a feeling he wanted to hide. "I guess that's my problem, isn't it?"

"I guess so."

With a suspicion that they're talking about different things which aren't entirely related to Sam now, Leah brushes his words off along with everything else she doesn't want to question. Like how Jacob rests his arm against hers instead of the gearshift, how he leans a little closer over to her side rather than the window. Like how she doesn't really care.

Jacob clears his throat. "So," he says, loudly enough that she knows he's deliberately changing the conversation, "how did you think this thing was going to go down? You telling Quil?"

She accepts his evasiveness easily. "Well, I wasn't really banking on you being around, so . . . I don't know." There's a beat of silence as she imagines Quil rearing back as a gigantic wolf and howling. "Tell him and run?"

"Run," Jacob repeats slightly disbelievingly.

". . . I'm fast?" she offers, knowing that Jacob will laugh at her. He does, exactly as she expects, and she pulls a face at him. "I am!"

"I bet I'm faster," he says. "Gonna have to be, when—" Jacob stops abruptly, his amusement flying away with the sound of his breath and she thinks he might be imagining exactly what she was not one minute ago. "Well. You know."

She sighs. It's almost like he _wants_ her to ask what is on his mind, and yet she knows that he likely won't give her a straight answer even if she does.

"No. I don't," she says. "Is this about how dead you are?"

"Yep."

"You wanna talk about it?" she asks in the same tone that suggests she wishes he doesn't. All the same, despite her reluctance, it feels like the least she can offer after the emotion he's had to endure from her.

"Nope," he says, and Leah hopes her relief isn't too palpable. Obviously Jacob _needs_ to talk about it, but he doesn't _want_ to. Perhaps it's just because she's not the person he wants to talk about it with, and that's fine by her. Besides, she's the last person in the world who could push someone else to talk when she refuses to share her own problems. She might have turned into a bit of a hypocrite as of late, but she's not usually one for such double-standards.

The drive doesn't take much longer after that. It seems like the car is quiet with thoughtful silence for only a heartbeat before Jacob is announcing that they've turned into Quil's street, and he points to the one-storey house where she knows Old Quil lives with his daughter-in-law and grandson.

Jacob pulls in at the bottom of the Ateara's drive, his movements methodical but relaxed as he parks and cuts the engine before ducking his head a little to look clearly through the window on her side. His breath blows over her cheek.

"Is he in?" she asks, following his gaze and refusing to shiver.

"Blasting that stupid band he loves from his bedroom. Jimmy Eat someone-or-something, I don't know, but he always brings their CD to the garage whenever we're working on something with Embry. He knows how much it annoys us."

"Not eighties hair metal?" she asks, meaning to be funny, however her voice sounds a little weaker than she expected. She can't hear anything coming from Quil's house, and she's still unused to everyone else around her who can apparently hear everything. It's a little disconcerting, knowing Jacob hears the nervous beat in her chest.

"Nah, that's all me." Jacob huffs and slaps his hand lightly against the steering wheel, his joke falling flat. "Whelp. Come on, then."

"We can't do it in _there,_ Jake. What if Mrs. Ateara or Old Quil are in?"

"They're not," he says with certainty. Even still, he takes a few seconds to deliberate, his brow furrowing in thought. "But you're right. How about you get him out to the yard? I'll go round the back."

It's a better plan than tilting Quil's world on its axis out here on the street, so Leah says, "Okay," and takes the keys from Jacob, jumping out of the car before she has a chance to lose her nerve.


	14. thirteen

_like a bird in a cage, i broke in and demanded that somebody free it_   
_The Avett Brothers, "Head Full Of Doubt/Road Full Of Promise"_

* * *

**thirteen.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

The blaring music of Quil's favourite band doesn't lessen any until after a full minute of pounding her fist on his front door. It's what Leah calls _Fuck Off And Leave Me Alone Music_ — the kind she herself played in the following months after Sam, if only for the mind-numbing beats which drowned out her family's unwelcome advice and drove away the rest of the world's sympathetic looks — and she takes it as a warning of what is to come.

After all, she reasons, if she were Quil then she'd be in a pretty foul mood too after what happened earlier.

The blaring music from inside quietens a fraction. Knowing she has been heard she knocks again, a little more politely this time, and then the music stops. And when the front door finally swings open, Quil's face swiftly morphs from a mix of anger, frustration and general unhappiness into pleasant, cheerful surprise.

"Leah!" His blinding grin splits his face. "You're alive!"

She can't help herself from smiling back at him. "Were you doubting me? _Me?_ "

Quil's laughter rises as she fans her face with her free hand, a picture of arrogance as she leans against the doorframe and blinds him with her best smile.

"Can you blame me?" he asks lightly, barely recovered from his amusement. "I was getting kinda worried when you didn't call. Jake looked so mad that I thought I'd have to avenge you or something. . ." His voice trails off, his eyes having flickered over her shoulder, and Leah realises with a dull pang of dread that he's seen the infamous Rabbit parked behind her.

She didn't think to ask Jacob to park it down the street, out of sight, although she supposes that there's not much of a difference between Quil being angry with her now rather than in five minutes time. Less.

"Woah," he says, jaw dropping comically. "Did you kill him?"

"Not yet," she replies sweetly. Innocently. Jacob _is_ eavesdropping, after all.

Quil blinks. "Shit. He's not tied up and gagged in the trunk, is he?"

It is her turn to laugh. The feeling sits foreign in her throat because she's not laughed for days and days — not properly, not without it being forced, not without feeling _good_ and guilt-free about it. Her dad's not even been dead a week.

"Seriously," Quil protests, torn between chuckling and dark suspicion. "How did you get the Rabbit?"

"Borrowed it."

"Right. Sure you did."

Leah doesn't answer. Everything that Quil says will only force her to tell yet even more lies, so she simply keeps her smile and hopes with everything she has that he will one day forgive her for all she's said so far. "Can I come in?"

"Oh. Sure."

He steps aside, and she catches a glance of his casserole-stained shoes by the doormat. The sight almost makes her smile again until she remembers why she'd been picking glass out of his sneakers in the first place.

"Really," Quil insists from behind, "why'd you borrow _his_ car? Did he _let_ you?"

"Not exactly," she says, hating the way it sounds as if she's asking a question.

"You know that'll really piss him off, right? I mean, he wouldn't even let anyone help him work on it."

She shrugs as if to say, _I don't care_ without having to actually say it, and another smile quickly splits Quil's round face.

"You're brilliant," he declares, shutting the door behind them.

"I think so," she agrees amiably — lying again, because she's anything but brilliant in this moment. It's nice that he thinks so, though. In another life, they might have been good friends. Maybe they could be still after she ruins his life. He's a sweet kid.

"What happened? Truthfully. Did you kick his ass?" Quil asks hopefully.

She bites her lip for show, thoughtful but wicked in a way she's mastered. "Well. I might have yelled at him a little bit," she says. _That's_ not a lie.

"Awesome." He drags out the word, entirely impressed. "You want a congratulatory soda or something?" he asks, waving towards the kitchen. "We'll make a toast, start a club. Figure out a secret handshake. Maybe I'll even teach you the one we used to do when we were kids — that'll _really_ piss him off."

"I was right. You do have a death wish."

"When did you say that?"

"I didn't. But I thought it," Leah tells him, and they both grin. "I actually wanted to talk to you, though. Can we . . . Can we go out in the yard? It's kinda nice out."

"Uh — sure, if you want."

Quil's confusion shows, but he follows regardless as she invites herself further into his house and finds her own way through the hall and into the kitchen, through the back door and out to the yard. It's not really nice out; it's a typical cloudy, cold Washington day in March, nowhere even close to the spring weather they're all waiting for, but at least it's dry. Open, too, with no chance of his house being demolished.

She sees Jacob standing in the middle of the yard straightaway. He gives her an imperceptible nod of understanding — solidarity, even — before shoving his hands into the pockets of his shorts with a slightly grim expression.

"So what's up, Leah?" Quil asks before the thin, white weather-worn door has swung shut behind him with a snap.

And then he sees Jacob.

Everything about her would-be-friend tenses: his back instantly straightens and his mouth presses into one thin, angry line; his shoulders go rigid, his eyes harden, and for a few fraught seconds it looks as if he's forgotten how to breath. Impulse has Leah putting her hand on his chest, even if doing so is exactly what Jacob meant about not getting too close.

"It's okay, really, I asked him—"

"What the fuck, Leah?" Quil glares down at her, the betrayal in his expression like a knife in her side. "This some kind of ambush?"

He's not wrong, but she pushes her hand more forcefully against his chest and wills him to remain intact. "No. Please, just listen. Trust me."

"I do," he says immediately, without thought. The sentiment doesn't warm her like it should. "It's him I don't trust," Quil then spits, his chin jerking over her head and towards where Jacob stands to attention.

"Leah," Jacob says slowly, just loud enough that she can tell his voice is full of worried caution.

She ignores him, ignores the heat searing into her palm through Quil's shirt and the pounding rhythm of his heart against it, and she holds her ground. "Please. I need to tell you something, okay? And I need you to hear me out."

"So why's _he_ here?" Quil all but growls from behind his teeth, his trembling fists curled into tight balls at his side.

"Because — because he can explain how you've been feeling better than I can, and—"

"Okay, that's enough," Jacob says, his voice closer now and on the cusp of full-blown panic. His strong, too-warm hands quickly set themselves on her shoulders, gently coaxing her away.

"I've got this," Leah snaps, whipping around, just at the same time Quil barks, "Get your hands off her!" and then she both _hears_ and _feels_ the rush of Quil's fist careering over her head and into his best friend's jaw.

Jake staggers back a few steps and Leah sags heavily into his chest as he pulls her with him, holding her with his arms which have now locked tightly around her waist. Her breath leaves her — not from his strength, but rather Quil's.

"You okay?" Jake asks immediately, already recovered as if he were merely pushed.

" _Fine,_ Jake," she huffs, both her hands splayed over the forearms which keep her in place. But she doesn't push him off, not even as he straightens himself to his full height, lifting her with little effort and supporting all of her weight — high enough that the tips of her sneakers graze the grass.

Leah is by no means short, nor heavy, but these boys are _huge_. Jacob is closer to seven feet than he is six, and Quil is not far behind that.

Quil, who boils with rage and spits his aggravation throughout their exchange, but Jacob pays his friend no mind.

He sets Leah gently back on her feet, his fingers sliding down her waist and over her hips as he manoeuvres her whole body quickly and effortlessly behind him. His touch is firm yet gentle, insistent, either too strong or too focused (or both) to even feel her pathetic resistance to stay right where she can see Quil.

He doesn't speak until all she can see is the black shirt on his back. "Quil, man," he says, pleading, "I get it, I do, but you gotta calm down or someone's gonna get hurt."

"You think _I'm_ going to hurt her?" snarls Quil, his anger sounding beyond anything Leah thinks they might be able to tame. "You're the one holding her back! It's _you._ You and your fucking friends, that's who she's scared of, not me!"

"Jake, _move._ " Leah pushes, but Jacob only steps back, his fingers digging deeper into her skin as he puts even more distance between them and Quil. She huffs out her frustration. "No, _move._ Let me talk to him."

"See!" Quil insists angrily. "She doesn't _want_ you!"

Leah can't read Jacob's face; she can't see what it is he struggles with during the terrible moment it takes for him to find his voice, but she can feel the strain he's under to keep his temper even. And she knows she should be scared, terrified as the day she saw Seth phase for the first time, except she refuses to give that terror even an inch of space. Because if she starts believing now that she will be hurt — that _they_ will hurt her — then she will be ruined.

"We came here to help you," Jake eventually says instead of answering after a huge breath. "Will you just listen to us?"

"I've tried to talk to you for weeks, Jake! I've been shouting like a moron in the goddamn trees after following you, trying to get your attention, and you didn't care then!"

"I know," Jacob replies guiltily, "I know, but please—"

"And if you think I'm going to join you — if you think you can make me one of _you_ ," Quil ploughs on, trying for all his might to not stumble over his words through his rage, "then you've got another thing coming, because I _won't._ I don't care, I don't want it. Whatever it is you and Embry have got going on with Sam — I'm not — I won't be next!"

"That's why I'm here! You don't think I've wanted to tell you? If you'd let me—"

Leah pushes against Jacob's back again. "Stop it! Just shut up!" she screams, and — almost as if he'd forgotten she was there — Jacob's iron-tight hold on her relents in his surprise. It is just enough for her to pull away and dart underneath his arm and face Quil herself, who opens his mouth—

"Both of you!" she snaps. "Just _listen._ "

Quil doesn't so much as flinch. He only crosses his arms that continue to quiver, tucking his fists tight into his armpits, and lets his teeth show. "I'm not listening to anything he has to say."

"Then don't. Talk to me, okay?" She reaches out, hands splayed in surrender — in peace — and pretends not to notice when she feels Jacob's heat curling around her shoulder again. "A minute, that's all I want. Can you give me that?"

He looks dangerously at the hand on her, his lip still curling, but eventually Quil meets her gaze again and nods stiffly. "One minute. Then he better take his hand off you, or I swear to God—"

"He's not hurting me. He's just . . . worried."

"Because of _me_?"

"Because of me, actually," she says, smiling tightly when Quil frowns. "Apparently I'm not very good at listening either."

"Did he tell you that?" Quil demands.

"No! Jeez. It's not —" She sighs loudly before looking over at him again, and Jacob's fingers press into her collarbone as if he knows that she wants to move closer to Quil. "It doesn't matter. He came with me because I need to tell you something, and you're not going to believe me and you're going to get mad, but I couldn't lie anymore—"

Quil's hands slip from his armpits before he quickly clamps down on them again. "You lied? When?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do. It's not my secret. I couldn't—"

"You're in on it, aren't you?" Pained realisation crosses his face, just as bad as it was when he dropped the casserole over her doorstep and turned away from her. "I . . . _You?_ They let _you_ into their secret? _Sam_?"

"No! He wasn't going to tell me. Nobody was going to tell me," she protests, unable to help but think back to when Sam had stood in her bedroom, and then when she'd pushed and pushed Jacob for details in her kitchen — twice. "I wasn't supposed to know. Believe me, I'd given up wanting to know what had happened to Sam, and then Seth . . . That day, when my dad . . ." She shakes her head. "Seth couldn't help it. He . . . _phased._ " The word feels strange on her tongue still. "That's what they call it. When they turn into — into wolves."

Quil simply stares. And then he says, voice flat, "You're crazy."

Leah rakes her fingers through her hair, tugging on it at the back of her neck in frustration.

"Quil, she's not —" Jacob starts, and then promptly gags. "You're a — _Leah_ ," he gasps painfully, a hand clawing at his throat. " _I can't._ "

"The legends," she blurts, jerked into action by Jacob's suffering. She feels a dull ache in her chest, affected by it, and knows deep-down that it is more than sympathy. "Those stories your grandpa tells, the blind faith he has in Sam, all those secrets. The legends are real, Quil. The Cold Ones, the wolves — Yut — Utlapa and Taha Aki. All of them."

Quil's cold stare breaks into a laugh, a hard and scornful sound which cuts to the bone. "Yeah, right."

"They are! The spirit wolves — _that's you_. It _will_ be you. Jacob's one, too, and Embry and Seth and Sam and—"

"You're crazy!" he repeats with a yell. "Everyone — _everyone_ talks about what a bitch you've turned into but I thought . . . and I . . . I _trusted_ you about this!"

Tears pool in her eyes, Quil's words settling deep within her. And Jacob growls his warning, but his friend doesn't stop.

"I thought you believed me. I thought you liked me! And now you've just — you — _how_ can you . . . _Fuck!_ "

On that last word, several things happen very, very quickly: Jacob's shout of warning has her heart leaping as Quil finally loses whatever shred of control he's managed to hold onto thus far and cries out; it's a strangled, awful sound which horribly mangles his face, which has her stomach dropping but her hands reaching for him—

—just as Jacob flings his arms out, shoving her with bruising force. Pain radiates across her back, her shoulders, her elbows as she collides with the ground—

—and suddenly a whirl of colour explodes in her vision against the lush green, scraps of fabric floating around it and towards the ground—

—but Jacob — for all he's done to keep her out of the way, _he doesn't move_. He just _stands_ there on two feet, his arms wide as he braces himself against the oncoming wolf whose snarl drowns the sound of her scream out.

She screams and screams, struggling to push herself up on the grass as the chocolate brown wolf — _Quil_ — throws himself into Jacob, who rebuffs him with an inhuman, deafening roar. And she swears she sees the lines of Jake's body blur out of shape for a second before he coalesces back into himself, every inch of him trembling as he defends himself. Defends her.

Quil scrabbles on the grass, finding his feet again in only an instant before crouching low with an earth-shattering snarl, ears flat against his head. But he's so huge that Leah can see how unsteady his legs are, can see the tremors along his tangled fur and the way his massive eyes dart around the scene before him uneasily, and she realises with a strange sense of hysteria that Quil . . .

He's not trying to _kill_ them. He's scared.

This is what Seth must have looked like.

It is that thought which somehow has her managing to stand. It feels like every part of her is bruised, maybe even cracked in parts, broken and crying in pain, but she manages. Somehow.

Jake and Quil move towards her at the same time as if to help, but it is only the first who reaches her. Quil stops short, remembering himself, and a low, unending whine escapes through his sharp teeth before he whirls on himself and runs. If she'd blinked, she would have missed it.

Sweaty hands are at her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders. Shaking. Touching her, turning her.

"I'm okay," she breathes before she dares look into Jacob's eyes and see the panic there. It is worse — worse feeling it from him than as if the panic were her own. She can feel it alongside his anxiety and his shame, the inexplicable need to be _here_ together. But she pulls away from it, her bones groaning, because — "Quil."

Another whine comes from deep within the trees. Mournful.

"Quil," she says again. "Help Quil."

"You're hurt — I hurt you—"

" _Jake._ He needs you. This is —" She sucks in a painful breath, flinching as Jacob folds her into his embrace without warning. She wants to say, _This is why you are here, help him, go now, please,_ but words fail her. She can only lift her arms up.

"I can't," he moans, the stammer still there. "The others — they'll find him, hear him. I can't leave. Phase. I can't phase."

"I'm okay," she says again as Jacob drops his head and starts mumbling a litany of apologies into her hair, because it's true. She is hurt and tired but . . . whole. Okay. Alive. "Go on."

It takes a minute, or an hour. She's not sure for how long it is exactly that she has to reassure Jacob she will live, that he has to go, but eventually he nods. It is not without shame or fear, not with any certainty that they have truly helped Quil instead of making things worse, but finally he understands.

And he leaves. He follows the trail of destruction his best friend has left where the trees meet the grass, his head bowed, and he does not turn back.

She is glad. Glad that Jacob does not see her picking up Quil's shredded clothes, piece by piece, fighting her tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hurt. So much. I try and avoid notes but that's how much it hurt, trying to do it justice. Send cake if you liked it, Renesmee-shaped complaints if not. I'll thank you anyway.


	15. fourteen

_i found my truth letting go / and i've never felt so alone in one unending moment_   
_SYML, "Everything All At Once"_

* * *

**fourteen.**

* * *

_(Jacob)_

A thousand years of instinct gifted from Taha Aki himself tells Jacob he should not leave Leah.

He goes anyway.

Every step is painful. And by the time he is within the cover of the trees, out of her sight, he is all but crawling over the deep track marks Quil has left behind. It is only because Leah has told him to go that he's managed this far, but knowing that she is hurt and in pain — by his hand, no less — has the wolf inside yowling to go back to her, to get on his knees and beg her forgiveness.

And Leah would — she would forgive him for what has just happened. Already she has been affected by the imprint. _Is_ being affected by the imprint. Jacob is as certain of this as his hands are when they build engines, when they replace the timing belt in the Rabbit. It would take a man stripped of all his senses to not notice the difference in her.

As if it's not bad enough that his whole life has been upended by the imprint, has to be ruled by it, but for Leah . . .

Maybe she'll find herself easily forgiving him for pushing her, bruising her . . . (Shit, Emily has forgiven Sam for worse.) But once Leah finds out _why_ that is, _why_ it is that she can't blame Jacob for what he did . . . She won't forgive him for changing her. That's something else entirely.

She's something else entirely.

Different from Emily and Kim. Everyone who knows them is entirely aware that Kim worships the ground Jared walks upon, while Emily would walk through fire and earn new scars without hesitation if it meant she could spend one more day with Sam. They have both accepted their fate. Welcomed it, even.

Leah, however.

No. Jacob can't even comprehend telling her. Not yet. Not ever. If the imprint means that he now solely exists to protect her from harm, if it means that he will always do right by her, then he cannot tell her. He won't.

Jacob sinks closer to the ground. He doesn't move again. Even the sound of Quil howling half a mile away fails to stir his wolf, not when it knows that Leah is closer.

(He decides there and then, sprawled face down in the dirt, that he will never roll his eyes at Sam and the Alpha's dramatics ever again.)

Less than a few days ago he was dancing along a dangerous line, that point of no return. Now he's blown right past it, leaving it for dust. He tries to think about _when_ exactly that happened: was it when he'd held her whilst she cried, or was it watching helplessly as someone else wrapped his arms around her?

Perhaps it was her screaming half an hour ago. Not because she was scared of Quil or because she'd been hurt, but because she believed _he_ was going to be. Even if Leah hadn't understood it, even if she hadn't figured it out yet, the fear she'd felt had been for him. For the soulmate she didn't know existed.

It might even have been Jacob wrapping his arms around her after Quil's first disastrous phase, pulling her close if only because he knew that following his newest brother meant that the world was going to learn the truth. That Sam is going to learn the truth. That Sam is going to kill him.

It's pure luck, not skill, that Sam hasn't found out so far. That Seth _hadn't_ found out. The kid had been too wrapped up in learning everything, seeing everything for the first time to pick up on a thing. Dumb luck — that's what it was. Jacob knows he won't get away with it again; he's not strong enough, not clever enough. The moment he phases, they're all going to know.

He's so tired of fighting it. So tired.

And so it's almost a welcome relief when Sam's sudden piercing howl stretches for miles and miles. _Almost_. Except . . . it's a summons — an order. The kind that will leave Sam with a throbbing headache for an hour afterwards, what with the effort it takes to demand such things from somebody who was not born to follow. Sam's order is for him, and for him alone. He is calling for him. Jake can feel it in every fibre of his being as the fire begins to burn inside of him without permission, the fire an Alpha can invoke if they so wish it.

Does Sam know?

The idea terrifies Jacob. This is exactly what he has been trying to avoid. He wants to do this on his own terms. But in avoiding Sam and the pack, especially now that Quil has finally joined them, it's obvious that his efforts haven't gone unnoticed. He's called attention to himself like a fucking homing beacon.

Sam howls again. _Orders_ again.

And when a chorus of low howls fill the air in response, Jacob's is the loudest of them all.

He stretches his massive paws out, the fire still raging in the pit of his stomach from being forced to phase. There are several reasons Jacob hates Sam, and this is one of them: Sam leaves his brothers very little room to make their own choices, to remember their freewill. Jacob would have quite easily laid in the dirt for another hour had he been given the chance.

 _By all means,_ Sam begins, the tone of his mental voice clanging through Jacob's head, _if you think you can do better, Jacob, you are free to make that choice._

The suggestion settles heavily over the pack's shared mind, and the wolves hold their breath.

Jacob merely snorts, his breath visible before him. The day he becomes an Alpha is the day that hell freezes, the day the world spins west. And they all know it — but still, sometimes, his brothers tense. They scent the challenge in the air and they wait to see if the gauntlet will be collected.

 _Do you think you can do better, Jacob?_ Sam asks. His thoughts are laced with a quiet, simmering rage as he furiously stalks the banks of Hoko River, flanked by Jared and Paul who were on patrol when Quil phased. They are closer to Neah Bay than they are La Push — and, Jacob thinks, deep enough into their territory that Sam can risk decimating the forest around him should that rage boil over.

It is an effort for Jacob to hold his position and not rise to the challenge. It would take less than ten minutes to meet Sam head-on, and even far less than that to be rebuffed by the wolves who would come between them in defence of their Alpha.

Jake holds firm, because he suddenly realises exactly what Sam's anger is about: Quil. Not Leah.

(He clamps down on that thought as quickly as it comes.)

Quil. And now Sam is looking for a fight, feeling the sudden need to battle his most difficult brother into submission.

Jacob bristles.

 _Quil deserved to know,_ he shoots back by way of an answer. And, sure enough, as if in response, Quil's fearful train of thought is heard, the feeling behind it snaking along Jacob's spine. Embry is with him, the first to reach the edges of the reservation before their friend had managed to cross the boundary line. But Jacob doesn't dare acknowledge them — not yet. Just as they do not dare acknowledge him.

Sam snarls from the river. Jacob doesn't hear it, but he can _feel_ it — he feels it within his chest as if the emotion is his own. _That was not your call to make._

_I didn't make the call._

_You didn't stop her,_ Sam snarls back, picking through Jacob's memories now that they have risen to the surface and are on display for the whole pack. Exactly as Sam wanted. And the Alpha is not alone as he watches the scenes play out: Leah making her decision, Jacob following, the drive over to Quil's—

Quil rearing back, Jacob's panic, Leah falling, screaming, yelling—

Every single one of Jacob's brothers cower as Sam's snarl reverberates through both their minds and the forest around them, feeling it as if they are _all_ at their Alpha's side rather than miles away. Embry, Quil, Jared, Paul. Only Seth is unaware, still in his bedroom and safely asleep for all they know.

_You hurt her._

Jacob pushes the crippling guilt away and stands tall. Nobody can see him, but that does not matter. _I protected her._

_What right do you have—_

Then Sam sees it. Hears it. _Everything_. Every thought, memory, and feeling of Jacob's which has been encouraged by that half sentence. There is no use in fighting in, no point in trying to deny it any longer. Jacob cannot lie. He does not want to lie.

So he opens himself up the pack completely, and he does not hold back.

Against the onslaught, he focuses on one memory in particular. The most important one. The one which has plagued him since the day he brought Seth home.

_Leah leaps from her seat, her heat thundering a dangerous rhythm. 'I've heard just about everything now.'_

_'It's true. It happened to Jared, too, and . . . Well, trust me. I've felt—' He can't say it, won't say it. 'I've seen it. You just know.'_

_'Nope, I changed my mind. That, right there — **that**_ _is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard,' she rages, and he has to lower his eyes so that he doesn't have to watch the angry colour pool in her cheeks — if only because the beast inside of him wants to watch, wants to bask in the heat of her fire and claim it for its own. Mine, mine, mine—_

Sam snarls without end, his mind beyond coherent thought. The tether which ties him to Jacob is strung tight, fraying at either end. It has always been at breaking point between them, their connection fragile, but for the first time Jacob truly thinks it might snap.

He knows the pack would think the same, if they were able. They are frozen in their shock, unable to do nothing except watch through Paul and Jared's eyes as Sam's knees buckle, as the shock threatens to paralyse one of the strongest in their pack. They have been sucked into Sam's trance, a deep whirlpool of agony and fury and panic and sadness.

_!_

Silent shock. Unfocused confusion, jealousy, outrage.

_!_

Their Alpha's heart is a thundering mess of being in love with Emily but still loving Leah; of craving Emily to the point of pain every second of every day even though he still misses Leah, too.

When they recover, their thoughts start moving together at the same time Sam's paws move. He is hellbent on closing the distance between him and his new enemy with impossible speed, and Jared and Paul barely remember themselves in time to keep up with him.

_Leah!_

_Leah?_

_Leah._

Embry shakes himself free of the vicious loop. _Jake. Run, man!_

 _Why should I?! This isn't my fault! I couldn't — Sam,_ he thinks, pushing everything he has to break through his Alpha's unbroken determination to _kill kill kill._ He only has a few minutes left. _I tried to stay away, you know I did. I didn't **want** this._

_If you die, can I have the Rabbit?_

_Shut up, Embry._

_Jeez, do you ever take anything seriously?_

_Sam, listen to him._

_I didn't choose this!_ Jacob continues over them.

_Dude. How long were you going to keep this a secret from us?_

_He was never going to tell us!_

_Seth's gonna freak._

_Jake's not even going to tell her. Are you?_

_Nobody's going to tell her,_ Jacob growls.

Paul growls from beside Jared, both of them chasing Sam's tail. _Nice to know imprinting hasn't made you any less selfish, asshole. It's the leech-lover all over again._

_I told Kim after six hours. I couldn't do it._

_Nobody cares about you and Kim._

Sam doesn't say a word throughout.

And then there is Quil, quiet and overwhelmed by his different body and the excruciating pain of so many different emotions which do not belong solely to him — and yet still he manages to feel concern. To feel crippled by his guilt for the harsh words he had thrown at Leah.

 _I'm sorry,_ he whispers, only now making sense of every single one of Jacob's actions up until this point.

 _Me, too,_ Jacob replies.

He does the only thing he can. He braces himself, digging his claws deep into the ground, muscles locking into place, and waits. He was never going to be able to do this on his own terms. He knows now, as he always has, deep down, that this was a battle he was always going to lose. This isn't something he could have escaped forever.

But it's not Leah who he wanted to escape. It's not the imprint. It's Sam. Always Sam. Because fighting Sam . . .

This fight is what Jacob has been trying to escape ever since he phased for the very first time. Ever since that day Sam had beat his ass into next week until his need to dominate, to lead, had been very nearly extinguished. But Sam would never be able to expel it completely, no matter what he did, because Jacob's refusal to become Alpha did not take away from the fact that he had been born for it.

Sam hears all of this, of course.

It does not stop him. It has never stopped him before.

Quil's overriding sense of guilt is the last thing Jacob feels before Sam takes aim and bursts through the trees.


	16. fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for a multi-chapter update spaced out over a couple days or so. I know you are all dying to know what happened with Jacob, but I had no hope of addressing it in one hit or as quickly as you'd like. Pacing is important (or something) and let's be honest, this was never going to be a short fic.

_this ain't no sad song / life has to go on_   
_Kodaline, "Love Will Set You Free"_

* * *

**fifteen.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

Leah doesn't see Jacob the next day. Or the day after. Or the day after that.

It's not that she _expected . . ._ Well, okay, perhaps that was a stretch. She _did_ expect. Perhaps not immediately, but, even if he only ended up making a flying visit to reclaim his beloved car, Leah had honestly thought she'd see him soon.

But he hadn't visited. And the Rabbit was still there, four days later.

She tried not to look at it too much. Its polished, red gleam in the sunlight of Washington's early spring had her feeling like it was taunting her whenever she looked out of the window and saw it in the same place she'd parked it, tucked neatly at the bottom of her driveway. And as the days passed, it only served as a constant reminder that maybe, just _maybe_ she had not been right in wanting to tell Quil the truth. Not when he'd only split his skin so soon afterwards anyway.

But she had been right about one thing, at least. Quil was never going to forgive her. What he had _said_ . . .

She'd sat in the car for a long time afterwards, outside of Quil's house, her head against the steering wheel and tears falling from her face. Only the sudden panic that his mother, Joy — or worse, his grandfather — would soon arrive and find her there in such a state had forced her to find the courage and the strength to gather her wits and make the drive home.

An hour later, her face dry and her shoulders straight, Leah had let herself in, tired and defeated. Drained. Worried, even, because she had convinced herself that she was going to be met by Seth's accusing gaze (she'd already played out the conversation in her head) . . . but he was nowhere to be found, and, when she looked in on her mom, Sue was still in her bedroom and bundled in that dressing gown, staring up at the ceiling with no indication that she was really taking in the world around her. Who knew if she'd even absorbed a thing Billy had had to say to her.

After a while of sitting on the edge of her mom's bed, Leah had then spent some time fumbling around looking for the charger to her cell. She'd waited for the screen to brighten with a feeling of dread, but the only messages which appeared a few minutes later were the ones left from Sam — and one from Jacob. Voice messages left when Quil had disconnected the phone line.

She didn't listen to them. She hadn't wanted to hear either of their voices, fearing one particularly more than the other. Instead, she'd absently flicked through her texts, hovering back and forth over two most recent names in particular and wondering which of them it would be to answer first.

Rachel or Rebecca?

The two of them were so busy now, but they had always known what to say, how to deal with their friend's unforgiving temper. They would have known what to do about Sam, how to rid him from her life once and for all.

Rachel would have snorted. She would have told Leah to go and hit something but then distract her so effortlessly that she would forget what it was or _who_ it was she wanted to hit in the first place. And Rebecca would offer sage advice and calm her down by trying to talk it through with her. Because Rebecca was the ice to Rachel's flame, and Rachel the hurricane to Rebecca's calm waters. They were two sides of the same coin, Leah's beloved twins.

No. Not anymore. Not hers.

Leah had snapped her cell shut and tossed it to the side then, suddenly angry.

There was no-one. She had no-one.

And she had nobody but herself to blame.

* * *

On Saturday, Leah finally decides that she can no longer stomach looking at the red car. It's now been five days since she's seen or spoken to anyone except her mom and Seth, and Seth is out of the house more than he's in it. Leah is sick of being alone, of having nobody to talk to.

Or, at least, having nobody talk _back_ to her. One sided conversations can only go on for so long, even with her mother. And talking to herself has gotten Leah nowhere yet.

It's not that Sue isn't trying — because she is. The woman gets dressed in the morning; she eats whatever Leah puts in front of her, she drinks; she breathes, blinks; she moves about the house with slow but renewed purpose, and yesterday she was even brave enough to wander into the yard and look at the array of flowers Harry planted two summers ago.

She hasn't cried yet — at least, not that she has allowed anyone to see — and Leah isn't sure whether her mom coming back to her senses is down to Billy or the woman's own determination, or maybe even both, but it's _something_. It's going in the right direction. And Leah feels hopeful enough about this progress that, even though Seth isn't home to keep an eye on things, she has enough confidence to pluck Jacob's keys off the hook and escape for a while.

She has to do something _._ Needs to see the sun peeking out from behind the clouds, to feel the rain, to make herself _move_. Anything except any more crying of her own, else she'll go mad. Not one person has come to visit or has even called the phone since Billy's shameless intervention. Not even Charlie. The Clearwater house has never been so quiet.

Leah sits on the edge of the Rabbit's front seat and stretches her legs to the pedals. It's an uncomfortable drive with the modifications Jacob has made to it in order to accommodate his hulking frame, but she'll never admit it to him; she knows he'll never hand over the keys so easily again if she complains or insults the damn thing.

He's weird like that.

But who has managed to seem even weirder (if she can believe it, because Jacob has been super weird as of late) is Charlie. He was Harry's best friend as much as Billy.

As she drives, Leah reasons why. It's not as if Bella is dead, is it? Everyone would have heard by now, one way or another. Right? News like that spreads like wildfire, especially across a small reservation. Either the selfish bitch is still missing (because that's what she is, for what she has done, and Leah has no problem with calling her such. It takes one to know one, after all), or she's brought a shit heap of trouble back with her which has kept everyone away.

Or maybe, Leah thinks, she's just over analyzing everything. Death makes everyone uncomfortable. Maybe the tribe (and Charlie) just want to give her family space and get their own heads around what has happened. Who they have lost. They've paid their respects, left their casseroles and their lasagnes, their stews and their condolences, and that's that.

Except — no. That's not who the Quileutes are. It's not who Charlie is. Leah has known them all her whole life. She knows Jacob, his father. Quil. She knows Sam. _Sam_ , who had barely left her alone in those first few days. And Jacob, who she'd seen every day after that.

Fucking Jacob Black.

Leah yanks on the handbrake with a little more force than necessary and jumps out of the driver's seat. She's parked a little haphazardly, but he deserves it. It's just unfortunate that he's not the one who sees it first.

"I wondered where that blasted car was," Billy calls out by way of a greeting as he rolls out onto the ramp which stretches up to his front door. Then he shakes his head, smiling to himself. For a moment, he looks more like the man Leah knew as a child. "I should have known, really."

She holds up the keys for show as if to say, _Guilty_. They dangle precariously from her middle finger by the leather cord Jacob keeps them bound to. She presumes one of them will open the garage, but she's too much of a coward to ask if she should open it up and park there instead. The outbuilding is Jacob's sanctuary. His church. It would probably go up in flames if she walked inside.

Realisation sinks in, then. Her hand closes around the keys in a kind of strange, protective way, and they dig into her palm just as sharply as Billy's admission hits. She frowns belatedly. "You didn't know?"

Billy shrugs. "Don't know much of anything these days, kiddo," he says, and he seems resigned about it. "How's your mom doing? I would have come over, but it's getting harder to push myself up that hill without help."

 _Could have called,_ Leah thinks, but instead she says, "She's fine. I thought we would have seen Charlie by now, though," because she has never been one to beat around the bush.

Neither is Billy. His worn face creases a fraction further, no traces left of his youthful smile. "That would be because of Bella, I would think. She turned up not too long ago."

It is an effort for Leah to not twist her lips with annoyance. Jacob's explanation of disappearing on her now that Bella is back shouldn't have really come as a surprise. "When?"

"Day after Quil phased. Charlie let me know that she was back, but I haven't heard from him since. I'd imagine he's been wanting to keep a close eye on her," Billy replies. He does not hide his own disapproval, and it secretly pleases Leah that there is another person in the world who objects to Bella's hold over Jacob as strongly as she does — perhaps even more so. "Not that it's stopped her calling here. Twice a day, sometimes. She's quite insistent."

Leah scoffs nastily.

Billy's thick brows shoot to the heavens. "You know, huh? How much did Jake tell you?"

"Enough," she says. She'd already seen with her own eyes during Christmas dinner to figure out the basics. "Italy, right?"

Billy nods, and Leah thinks she can see something close to suspicion rising in his eyes as they consider one another. She doesn't say anything to defend herself, lest the man thinks she's jealous or something equally as crazy. Because she's not. Jacob is her friend; he has proven himself as much and he has earned her loyalty — so she is not about to stand by and watch him be treated like a complete fool. Least of all by Bella fucking Swan, who has so clearly toyed with his feelings for months and months.

"And she's back with the —" (' _vampire'_ hangs on Leah's lips, but the word still seems too outlandish to say. She's only just about gotten used to swallowing around the sound of ' _werewolf'_ ) "—that Cullen kid."

"So Charlie said."

"Good for her," Leah says without any kindness. Although if compared to what she really wants to say ( _"Her funeral, I guess"),_ her words _are_ actually kind.

Billy makes no effort to conceal his smirk. "Always liked you, kiddo. You want to come in?"

"Liar," she snorts, thinking of all the times she's gotten Rach and Beck into trouble, but she follows his chair inside anyway.

She's not been inside the Black's one-storey home since Christmas. She spent so many years here as a kid, Sarah watching over all of them whilst the other parents were at work (or in Billy and Harry's case, fishing), and she finds comfort in that it never changes. It's almost like she's stepped back into her childhood.

That's probably why the twins hate it so much.

"Jacob home?"

"No. He's been, uh—" Billy reaches over for the television remote, resuming what Leah suspects he had been doing when he'd heard the car pull up "—busy, y'know, what with Quil's boy finally joining them all. Out all day, out all night. You know the score."

Unfortunately, she does. Seth has been around far less than she would like. Far less than she swore to herself she was ever going to allow. But Billy doesn't sound too concerned about it, and Leah once again reasons to herself that surely she would have been told by now if something was _really_ wrong.

Perhaps she has been over analyzing the whole thing after all.

Perhaps.

Leah looks around for a brief moment, and her eyes catch the open pizza box on the kitchen table not too far away. Grease still clings to the inside of the cardboard. Honestly.

"You should have called," she says in the best imitation of her mother's admonishing tone — and not just because her own house has been quiet and she feels like her family has been forgotten, but because the whole Rez knows that Billy relies on Jacob for a lot more than just the extra money he earns from fixing cars up in his spare time. "We have better leftovers."

"If I hadn't thrown it all away, I would still have leftovers from seven years ago," Billy mutters, angling his chair towards the old sofa with the remote upon his lap. Leah is aware that this is a conversation her mother has had with him — and had, with her father — too many times. Harry had a congenital heart disease; Billy has diabetes. One had a wife to lecture him, the other doesn't.

For that reason, she asks, "What else have you eaten?"

Billy doesn't look away from the screen, not even as he braces his arms against the couch and hoists himself onto it with impressive strength, but Leah has a feeling he's rolling his eyes at her. "Now you really sound like your mother."

"Good," Leah says. "Someone needs to."

A huff is all she gets as a reply, so she sticks her tongue out at the back of Billy's head and continues her survey of the house.

Well. It's not as if she has never needed an invitation to do exactly as she likes before, so Leah rolls up the sleeves of her sweater, and she gets to work.

It's no real hardship to spend the rest of the morning picking up laundry, and, unbelievably, _candy_ wrappers from around the house. She avoids the bedrooms with determination, but she dutifully straightens out the bathroom and the living room; she wipes down the kitchen; she washes the only two dirty plates in the sink, shoves all the disgusting takeout boxes in the trash, and she offers to drown Billy in a few gallons of water (for hydration, of course), ignoring his grumbling all the while.

It makes her feel useful, even if she did only start to work out her frustrations. Besides, it's not anything she hasn't been doing at home — shit, all she's done for the past week is clean and tidy and clean some more. But for all her own grumblings and her fraying nerves, she has been raised better than to leave the Chief rolling about in his own filth.

Leah even chances her luck at asking if he wants something to eat. He refuses, if only because he quite rightly knows that she will put something green and leafy on his plate. It's not as if there _is_ anything green and leafy in the house (she's checked), but all the same: he doesn't trust her sudden generosity or the interest in his appetite. And the Littlesea's store is only just down the road.

(Billy might not be her father's favourite best friend, but the stubborn old goat has always been the smartest of the two.)

"I've been doing fine, thank you very much," he says tartly.

"Tell that to your feet," she mutters, quiet enough that he won't hear. Billy might indeed be a stubborn ass, but he's still the Chief. So Leah holds her tongue from saying anything further.

When she calls home, but she doesn't expect anyone to answer. They don't. She's just about to walk away from the phone to load up a second pile of laundry when it rings.

She picks up without thinking. "Black residence."

The line is quiet for a moment, and then a soft, almost simpering voice (which, honestly, Leah has always found rather irritating whenever she's heard it before) says, "Oh. Hello. Is Jacob there, please?"

Leah looks at Billy staring back at her over his shoulder, and somehow she manages not to roll her eyes. "Hi, Bella. No, he's not here at the moment."

Another pause. "Sorry," Selfish Bitch says, caught off guard by the familiarity she's been addressed with. Leah smirks wickedly. "Who am I speaking to?"

"Leah Clearwater."

"Leah," the other girl says, and Leah can hear the dip of sympathy at the end of her name. A breath of sadness, a little uncomfortable, awkward.

Here, she thinks, is the part where she is about to be offered some words which are meant to be comforting. As if Bella knows what kind of man Harry Clearwater was after having lived in Washington for all of five minutes.

The thought enrages Leah until she's blind. She does not need Bella Swan's condolences. "He's not here at the moment," she says again before the girl can offer anything of the sort. And then, with as much ice as she can muster, Leah adds, "I'd suggest that you wait for him to call you."

Bella's gulp is audible even over the phone. "Oh. Okay. I, uh . . . Will you . . . Would it be okay if you'd let him know, please?" she asks, her silly voice wavering.

"Let him know what?"

"That — that I called."

"Why? So you can torture him some more?" The vicious words are out of her before Leah can stop herself. "No, I don't think so. Leave him alone, Bella."

It is only out of respect for Billy that Leah does not slam the phone back into its cradle.

"That's one way to do it," the man chortles from his spot, already turning back to watching his reruns of the same highlights over and over on SportsCentre. The noise of the programme fills the small space as it has all morning, familiar and comforting; it's exactly what her dad used to watch on weekends when he hadn't been out on the boat.

"You can speak to her again this evening, if you want," Billy adds, still humoured.

Not if she can help it. Leah has no intention of speaking to Bella Swan again in this lifetime. "Maybe Jacob should just speak to her himself."

Billy's responding hum is extremely noncommittal. And that she is so annoyed by it only aggravates the hell out of Leah even more. So much so that she can't help demand, "What? You don't think he will?"

"Why should he? I mean, it's not like . . . I don't think he really cares what that girl does anymore."

Leah is only slightly heartened. "What _does_ he care about?"

Billy leans forward, solely focused on the screen again. Over his shoulder, Leah spares it a glance and recognises a familiar logo. "They've announced the Draft for next month — look!" he says. "I've been waiting for this all day."

Overcome with a horrible urge to ball up the freshly laundered shirt in her hands and throw it at her Chief's head, Leah has to count to fourteen and a half before it passes.

He watched that announcement an hour ago. Anyone would think that Billy just doesn't want to answer her questions.

Stubborn old goat.

After that, Leah only manages to stick it out for another hour. Eventually she looks at the clock and concedes defeat; it is well past mid-afternoon and there has still been no sign of Jacob — or anyone else, for that matter; do people honestly not care? — so she finally calls it a day and heads home. The NFL Draft is all Billy suddenly wants to talk about, anyway.

(That is, until he himself has his own realisation that she is about to leave and probably starts planning to order his next pizza.)

"I'll come back tomorrow," she says, and hopes it sounds more like a threat than anything else. "With all the casseroles I can carry."

Without warning, Billy snatches the keys off the coffee table and throws them at her. Leah only just manages to snap her hand out in time to catch the familiar leather cord she'd handed over earlier. "Take that wretched car," he says.

And rather bizarrely, she doesn't protest. Not even though it means another uncomfortable drive or that she will have to stare at it for yet another day.

Huh.

"Drink some water," she calls on her way out.

She has a funny feeling that this time it is Billy who sticks his tongue out at _her_ back.

Stubborn old goat.

* * *

Sue is in the yard, staring at the flowers again when Leah finds her.

She sits cross-legged next to her mom on the grass and rambles about her morning, as she always does to fill this dreaded silence. It's usually done in the quiet of her parents' bedroom, perching awkwardly on the end of their bed while Sue stares up at the cracks in the ceiling, but Leah reminds herself: progress. Hell, her mom's even put on clothes which match today.

She talks about Seth, mainly, and a little bit about Billy. How she's going to feed him up with all the food they have in their fridge, that maybe she'll throw him some fruit and vegetables before getting him into a hospital for a check-up even if he yells at her. And when she finally has nothing more to say, she pushes herself to her feet.

Except Sue grabs her hand and looks up at her with shining eyes, and Leah's heart skips two beats.

"He —" Sue swallows thickly, her voice hoarse from lack of use. A lone tear escapes her left eye. "He likes your dad's fish fry. I could . . . I know the recipe."

Leah feels herself blink stupidly at her mother. Once. Twice.

She wants to protest that the whole point of offloading the casseroles and lasagnes is so that Billy doesn't end up the same way as her father, but the shock that her mom has finally spoken in nine days has Leah saying something else. "We don't have any fish in the freezer."

Disappointment visibly crushes her mother. It's like nothing else, and Leah scrambles to stop it in its wake.

"Charlie," she blurts. "Charlie will have some. I know it. Wait. I'll call him. Wait."

Sue's smile is shaky. The hope within it has Leah begging to herself _, Please, please,_ as she all but dives through the back door and into the kitchen, _please, let Charlie answer the goddamn phone._

He does, _thank_ _God_.

"I'm sorry I haven't been over to see you all, kiddo," he starts quickly, immediately launching into apologies Leah does not care for. "Things have been — well, there's no excuse."

"It's okay, really."

"No, it's not. How is your mom holding up?"

"Uhm. Better. I think. Actually, the reason I called is because she's talking about fish fry. And we don't — there's none in the freezer," Leah warbles, almost manically. She doesn't care if she sounds desperate or rude or both. "I was wondering if you did. I know it only lasts a couple months, but Dad taught me to fish a bit — he needed a fishing buddy when you started going to California for those two weeks every summer, see, so I can replace it. It's just — this seems really important to Mom—"

"Woah, sweetheart, slow down." And damn if Leah doesn't want to cry at the gentleness in his voice, because he sounds exactly like Harry when— "Of course you can, whatever you want. It's yours."

Her eyes burn as she clutches the phone to her ear with both hands. "Really?"

"Yes," Charlie insists. "You'll have to come and get it, though." He sounds apologetic about that, but Leah does not give a shit. She will run miles if she has to. "Is that okay?"

"I'll be right over. If now's a good time, I mean."

"Then I'll see you in a bit, kiddo," Charlie says, and Leah can hear the smile in his voice.

* * *

Later, she thinks she probably should have told him that he's always been her favourite — but he would only have snitched on her to Billy anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate breaking things up with notes, but I need to say:
> 
> This fic was plotted out and started as a fan service to myself to work on during downtime (and maybe with a few of you in mind who I've gotten to know over these years — blame Sentinel for collarbones, if that ever finds its way in to any of my fics, and blame me for every other shameless cliche you might read), so thank you thank you thank you three thousand for every single review and all of your encouraging messages. They keep me going. Massive, massive love.
> 
> Next . . . Chapter Sixteen! After so much upset and heartbreak I'm really looking forward to a tad more light-hearted writing: Leah getting to know the pack (sans traitors), being welcomed with open arms, being totally out of her depth, finding a family, and wonderful, wonderful cliches. And, of course, Jacob.
> 
> Maybe.
> 
> Kidding!


	17. sixteen

_i look for you in everyone i see_   
_Cutts, "Breathe"_

* * *

_**sixteen.** _

* * *

_(Leah)_

Leah has always considered Charlie Swan as good as family, and she has no doubt that many more people on the Rez think exactly the same. Granted, Charlie might not have exactly seen eye to eye with Billy on a lot of things over the years (they fight like brothers, for God's sake, especially when their kids are involved), and maybe he has never been invited to their bonfires; maybe there will always be things that they will disagree upon, and perhaps he won't ever understand certain traditions the tribe hold — but that's exactly what he is to them all anyway. Family.

Besides, it's not as if there are any other pale-faces who are a permanent fixture on the reservation. Charlie has spent every major holiday and family celebration in La Push for the last eighteen years. Birthdays, weddings, funerals — even for her graduation last year, the man turned up with a gift.

So maybe that's why Leah feels a little guilty as she soars down the one-ten towards him: his blue blood would absolutely kick her ass for speeding.

Shit. He'd not only kick her ass for speeding, but he'd probably find some way to ticket her for all the modifications Jacob has made to this damn car — family or not. Having to hang a little perilously off the edge of his driver's seat just so she is able to reach the pedals doesn't exactly scream _safe_. Charlie is a man of the law. He's still hellbent on nailing Sam for starting up a dangerous cult of Natives, no thanks to Bella.

Leah is imagining herself being arrested and hauled down to the station along with the rest of them — maybe, if she's lucky, they'll stick her in the same cell as her brother so she can finally spend some time with him — when suddenly her piercing scream erupts from within the car.

She throws all her weight down onto the brakes and the Rabbit jerks violently underneath her, its tyres squealing painfully in protest as she grips the steering wheel, her white knuckles in a desperate bid to keep it steady. A blinding surge of panic rises. She can't breath. And — and —

— the world comes to a grinding halt. There is a moment wherein her vision whites out in crippling relief, just as Embry Call's voice rings out across the empty highway.

"See! Told you she'd stop!" he yells cheerfully. "You owe me ten bucks!"

Leah slumps in the seat, her breath coming hard and fast. Just off the side of La Push Road, she can see Quil looking at the scene as if his stomach has dropped right out of his ass. She could swear his legs wobble — in relief? — but perhaps that's just her vision still.

Embry laughs at his friend (or at her, she's not sure, but either way he is clearly unfazed that the Rabbit's gleaming red hood is only a few mere inches away from his legs — that, if she had been a second too late, he would be _roadkill_ right now) and Leah screams again. She lashes out at the steering wheel, beating it with the palm of her hands, ignoring the sparks of pain which flash through her left wrist.

"The fuck, Embry!"

As if the words are a summons, Embry lopes over to the driver's side with that triumphant, shit-eating grin still stretching over his broad features and leans down, his arm arm braced against the roof of the car as he all but sticks his head through the open window.

He clears his throat, announcing himself. "Licence and registration, please, ma'am."

"The _fuck_ are you doing!" she yells over him. "I could have _killed_ you!"

"Nah," he says, beaming still. "Wouldn't have even broken a bone. Might have hurt the Rabbit a bit, though — you would have wrapped around me like a tree! . . ." The smile falters slightly, his only sign of remorse. "Well, it would have been Jake who killed me in the end — not you. Don't worry about it."

"You're insane."

"I haven't seen you around in a while," he says instead of replying — or maybe he's just choosing not to listen to reason, as crazy as he is. "Where are you off to?"

"Forks," she replies tightly. "What's it to you?"

"No reason." He shrugs, unoffended. "Just thought you might be running away or somethin', speed you were going. Jake would have freaked. Hey — Quil, come over, man! Come say hi to Leah!"

Leah wants to tell him to leave him alone, but the words don't quite come out right. "What are you even doing, Embry?"

"Heard Jake's car," he chirps, oblivious to the tightness still in her voice. "Spent enough time watching him build it to know the sound of this engine." A large hand pats the red paintwork with a sense of pride. "Anyway, we thought we'd catch up. Y'know, just in case you were skipping town."

Leah very much doubts there being any kind of joint decision — not when Quil so obviously feels about her the way he does. She looks through the windshield at him as he drags their feet toward them, staring unblinkingly at Embry all the while, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Leah thinks that maybe Embry is not the only one he is mad at.

"I'm not skipping town," she says. "I told you — I'm going to Forks."

"Cool. Shotgun."

Leah watches helplessly as Embry bounds over to the passenger side, her mouth hanging open as he opens the door and collapses the front seat in on itself before beckoning Quil in before him.

"What — _no._ You're not coming with me."

"Why not?" he asks over the sound of Quil clambering into the back. Leah glances over her shoulder, but her would-be friend still refuses to look at her even now. "Forks is dangerous territory."

" _Neutral_ territory," Quil mutters, spreading his huge legs as far as they can go. His knee digs into the back of Leah's seat, which she knows will not move an inch with the way it's been welded. Petulantly, she pushes back on the lump sticking into her spine. Take that.

"Infested," Embry corrects blithely, closing the door. He slaps his thighs. "Let's go!"

Leah glares at him. "I'm going to Charlie Swan's," she says as if that will force the boys back out of Jacob's car.

Embry whistles. "Even worse. You're gonna need someone to watch your back." He doesn't even bother reaching for the seat belt, but instead looks at Leah expectantly, waiting for her to get the car moving again. And when she makes no move to put the Rabbit into drive, he has the audacity to say, "You wanna switch places? Looks like you can't even reach the pedals."

She straightens in her seat, indignant and frustrated beyond belief. _Boys_. "I can drive this car just fine."

"She reached them in time to stop crashing into you," Quil says from behind them. "Jake is going to _kill_ you for that move. You could have really hurt—"

"Nothing happened, jeez. Lighten up, man. Say what you need to say and get over it."

Leah watches in the rear view mirror as Quil shrinks down on the back seats and crosses his arms with a scowl. "Shut up," he mutters.

Embry snorts. "Whatever, dude."

Leah narrows her eyes at the mirror. "Say what?"

"Just that he's really sorry, aren't you, Quil? That he'll never speak to you like like that _ever_ again, and he's actually really, really grateful for what you did because he _loves_ —"

"Shut up, Embry!" Quil shoves the passenger seat. " _God_. Don't you ever shut up? I can apologise for myself, you know."

Embry twists in his seat and looks over the back of the headrest, extending a hand to Leah. "Go on, then."

"I agree with him," Leah says, but it's Embry who she's still glaring at and Embry who will be the first person to be thrown out of this goddamn car — if she could manage it on her own, that is. Maybe if Quil really wants to make it up to her, he will help. "Don't you _ever_ shut up?"

Embry grins. "No."

She presses her lips together and exhales forcefully through her nose. "You are _so_ annoying, do you know that?"

"I know," he says with that same self-satisfied expression, and Leah can't help but huff a laugh in spite of herself. "Are we going, or what? You're kind of blocking the road."

It's not tourist season and the weather is turning miserable, so there's no other cars — probably not for miles. But she coaxes the car onwards anyway, sneaking more glances at Quil in the rear view mirror the whole way.

He looks like himself. Well, mostly. He looks like Embry. And Jake. And Seth. And the rest. His face is older and his hair is cropped short, and he's got an intensity about him which was never there before. Leah is not surprised. This is what all of Sam's little . . . _pack_ looks like. It's practically a prerequisite.

But it's still Quil. Taller and sharper and broader, but still Quil. She can see him in his roundish face, his wide nose. And in spite of his bad mood, there is still that suggestion of mischief in his eyes, that boyishness which has always made her think that he is the real troublemaker out of Jacob's friends.

"I'm sorry," he says when he catches her fourth glance. He clears his throat uncomfortably. And then, louder, "I am. I'm really sorry, Leah. I didn't mean any of it, I swear."

"I know," she replies quietly, hands tight on the steering wheel. But she didn't know — because his words had hit home, and she is still convinced there was some truth in them. Like a drunk spewing sober thoughts, and all that. Quil only said what everyone else has been thinking ever since Sam left her.

"And . . ." Embry eggs on, ever-oblivious to the awkwardness around him.

Quil scowls at the back of his friend's seat, but says, "And I'll do anything you want. I'll — I'll eat all the casserole in your fridge even though I hate it. And after that I'll boycott Emily's food for a week—"

"A week!" Embry cries.

Quil twists his lips, suddenly hesitant. It almost makes Leah laugh. Almost.

"Well, maybe not a _week_ ," he begins backpedalling, "but a few days. I'll do it. I — Leah, I feel awful. Truly. Please. Please please please, _please_ say you'll forgive me."

Her reflection arches into the image of an unimpressed eyebrow which she has perfect from years of suffering it from her mom. Now it is Quil's turn to suffer. "What else?"

He blinks and fumbles for his words. "I'll walk your dog!" he exclaims suddenly, clearly clinging desperately to his bright idea. "For a whole _month_."

Leah's eyebrow rises higher still. "I don't have a dog."

Quil mutters underneath his breath, but she hears enough to know the words are obscene. Fantastically so. And she thinks that if she wasn't trying to make him squirm, if she wasn't trying to focus on the road, she would have offered a high-five.

Embry snickers. "You can babysit Seth."

"He does not need babysitting," Leah snaps. "And neither do I, for that matter."

"Aw, c'mon. We're not babysitting you, it's just Jake would lose his shit if he found out that we let you just walk into Forks with no protection—"

" _Let_ me? And what does he care, anyway?" she demands hotly, reminded of her conversation with Billy. "I haven't seen him in nearly a week. I don't think he's even been home for his dad at all—"

"He hasn't."

"Em," Quil warns in a low tone.

The car speeds up along the one-oh-one underneath her touch, but not one of her passengers seems to notice. "What do you mean, _he hasn't?_ Where the hell has he been?"

Embry fidgets in his seat and turns his attention to the road markings blurring along it. "Nowhere." And then, "I can't tell you. Quil can't either, before you ask. So don't."

Leah's foot slips off the gas, bringing them back to an almost normal speed. She has recently understood the difference between _can't_ and _won't_ when it comes down to these boys telling her the truth, and she knows what it is that Embry is trying to say. "Sam. He's ordered you not to say anything. Or," she spits, "specifically, not to tell me. Hasn't he?"

"It's not —"

"It's just Alpha bullshit," Quil jumps in. Leah has the distinct feeling that he has just saved Embry from something, what with the way the other boy blows a breath and drops his shoulders in the corner of her vision.

"I'm going to kill him."

"Who?" ask both boys. "Jake?"

"No. Sam."

"Right," Embry scoffs. "Sure. You just missed the turning for Charlie's, by the way."

Leah barely remembers to check her blind spots and swears underneath her breath as she waits for another car to pass before swinging the Rabbit back around. "You don't believe me?"

"No," Embry says plainly as they turn into Charlie's short, curved street. "But we'll help you, if you want."

"Thanks. Although, I'm not sure you could even if you wanted to."

"You'd be surprised."

Leah raises an eyebrow but chooses to let the comment slide. Instead she follows the road leading to the house, because she knows there's no use in getting angry when she's about to see Charlie. Not when he's about to do her a solid like this.

The red truck on the police chief's driveway, with his cruiser tucked behind it, reminds Leah for the first time since pulling away from her own house that she's probably going to have to come face-to-face with Bella, too.

Great. Just great. So much for not getting angry.

Both Quil and Embry recognise the beaten truck; their breath hitches almost comically and their faces set in a way that makes Leah think they just might hate the girl, too. Until—

"God, it stinks around here. Roll your window up, Leah."

"Won't make any difference," Quil comments. "You'll just have to leave them down for the rest of the day when we get home."

"And they say that wolves mark their territory," Embry says, wrinkling his nose.

Leah frowns. She can't smell anything.

"Her bloodsucker's been back for all of five minutes," Embry continues, "and it's almost like—" He turns his nose towards the open window, takes a deliberate lungful of air and turns back again. " _—ugh_. It smells worse than it did last week."

"What the hell were you doing here last week?" Quil demands, his voice pitching along the edge of a whine like he has missed out on an adventure.

"You know, when that little leech whisked Bella off to Whereversville, the day we buried . . ."

Leah finishes the sentence for him, her throat dry. "Harry."

"Yeah. Sorry." Embry reaches out to her, looking chagrined as he begins to awkwardly rub her arm in what's probably the sweetest but most apology she's ever received.

"S'fine." Leah takes a deep breath and schools her face into the best look of indifference she can muster. She will never live it down if she cries anymore than she already has — especially in front of these kids. "So this smell issue. It's one of your werewolf things, isn't it."

"Yup," Quil says. "We can smell everything, hear everything." It sounds like something he's happy about, maybe even excited — at least, if it wasn't for whatever's plaguing his nose right now or the sense of awkwardness which fills the car after Embry's half-mention of Harry.

"Great," Leah drawls. She's going to have to start taking two showers a day, isn't she? But at least they're not in her head _. That_ would be insufferable. She doesn't envy them in that regard _._ "Can you hear who's inside?"

Both boys are quiet for a moment, considering. Embry even cocks his head. "Just two people," he says, letting his massive hand fall from her shoulder. "And the scent's not _that_ strong — I mean, not like there's one here or anything. Just traces of them."

Shivering, Leah braces herself and opens the door. She _really_ doesn't want to have to deal with Bella twice in one day, but she feels better than none of the girl's vampires are around, not that it had even crossed her mind before putting the phone down on Charlie and high-tailing it into the car. If there had been any of . . . them about, then Embry and Quil probably wouldn't have let her out otherwise.

 _Babysitting,_ she scoffs internally to herself. She's very nearly nineteen-years-old, for God's sake. "Wait here."

"No way!" Quil half-yells. "We're coming, too!"

Halfway out the car already, Leah cranes her head over her shoulder and looks back at the boy-wolves, her feet on the concrete and her hand on the door. "You're not wearing any shirts."

"So? Bella won't mind. Jake used to go without all the time."

"Idiot," Quil groans.

"I mean . . ." Embry continues underneath Leah's level stare. "Well, he did! I think it made her really uncomfortable, actually, but you know Jake, he probably misinterpreted that for something like—"

Leah sighs, more for show if anything else — because suddenly she doesn't mind all that much if the boys want to follow her, but she's not about to admit it. She's not that stupid. "Fine! Come on then, you two."

Quil and Embry scramble out of the car like Christmas has come early, pushing and shoving one another and leaving Leah shaking her head at their playful antics. She has to bite back a smile all the way up the steps of the Swan's house.

 _Babysitting._ Honestly. More like _she's_ babysitting _them_.

But she does wish that she could see herself with them when she rings the doorbell. With Embry on her left shoulder and Quil on her right, towering over her and using up every free inch of space on the porch — and shirtless to boot — it's no wonder that Bella Swan's jaw drops when she opens the door.


	18. seventeen

_she and her furry friends took down the queen bee and her men_   
_Of Monsters And Men, "Dirty Paws"_

* * *

**seventeen.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

Bella gapes like a fish out of water at the three of them standing on her front doorstep. Her wide eyes pass back and forth over the boys, roving from their heads to their toes – to their hair, their ripped chests, their brazen smiles – and then to Leah, who stands in between them and stares back at Bella with a level of disdain she usually only reserves for Sam and Emily.

"Is that Leah, Bells?" Charlie shouts from somewhere inside.

Her hand tight on the door, Bella jumps and only just manages to tear her eyes away from Leah's at the sound of her father's voice. Leah snorts – _I win_ – and receives a hard nudge from Embry for her efforts.

Embry gives her a Look when she stares incredulously back up at him. A Look which only makes Leah wants to roll her eyes and snort again. Honestly, as if _Embry_ is telling _her_ to behave!

"Uh – yeah," Bella calls back.

"Well, let her in then!"

Bella nervously steps to the side, pulling the door wide open along with her. It doesn't help, much; Leah imagines that the boys will still have to duck as they enter, the way she's noticed Jake has to duck wherever he's walking. It's a wonder the boys' balance is in tact with how much they've shot up.

"How goes it, Bella?" Embry chirps as he takes the lead and steps past her. "Heard you went away. Get a tan?"

For the first time since he stepped out in front of the Rabbit, Leah finds herself inherently grateful for how annoyingly juvenile the kid has proved he can be — because the way that Bella flushes is absolutely sublime. Truly. And Leah really hopes the girl turned that colour when they spoke on the phone, because it'd make her feel a thousand times more triumphant than she already does.

"Where is Jacob?" Bella asks instead of rising to Embry's jibes. The words sound more like a demand. "That's his car. Why are you driving it?"

"He gave it to Leah," Quil casually answers for them all, and Bella's eyebrows sky-rocket as he, too, steps past her.

But she's not staring at Quil. "He _gave_ it to you?" she blurts, her wide brown eyes on Leah once again.

"Yes," Leah answers tartly, not caring to clarify that it was only intended to be a short-term thing. Let the girl think what she wants, assume what she wants. Maybe it'll even get her off Jacob's back if she's that upset about it – who knows.

 _You've made your choice_ , she wants to tell Bella Swan, _so why are you still so hung up on him?_

 _Or more to the point,_ Leah then asks herself, _why do you care so much, Clearwater?_

It seems she's not done such a good job of convincing herself that Jacob is just her friend as much as she thought she had. But she does have some self-awareness, at least. Enough to know that people find her unkind at times, if not downright rude. So she smirks unkindly at Bella, triumphant, and follows Embry and Quil into the house.

(Harry had always said that such behaviour was unbecoming, but, well, Harry didn't exactly approve of Bella's life decisions either. So maybe he would have turned a blind eye to his only daughter's . . . _impudence_. Just this once.)

Bella still looks uncomfortable when her father rounds the corner from the living room, and when Charlie's eyes fall on Leah they seem to light up with a large smile. She finds herself smiling back with genuine feeling.

"Hey, kiddo, it is you! You made good time. I hope you weren't speeding otherwise I'll have to . . ." He trails off, only then taking in the two extremely large boys who have positioned themselves behind her. His face instantly falls.

" . . . You two," he says flatly. Embry and Quil have had that much of a growth spurt that Forks' Police Chief has to pull his head back to look up at them. "You're friends with that Sam Uley boy."

Leah remembers that Charlie wants to throw these boys behind bars for what his daughter has told him. It forces her to find her best smile for her dad's old friend in an attempt to change his mind, because really — they're annoying as hell, but Leah's actually really starting to like these kids. Over the years, it has always been easy to be mean to them, but it's also becoming just as easy to be nice.

"Charlie. You know Quil Ateara," she says, gesturing behind her. The boys look as if they are ready to flee; they can all see Charlie's gun hung up on the hook, not too far out of reach. "And Embry. Jacob's friends."

Charlie isn't appeased. "And your friends?"

"And Seth's," she says pointedly.

"Mr. Swan." Quil extends a hand. "Nice to see you again, sir."

A polite man, Charlie shakes Quil's hand — though he looks reluctant to do so, and Leah wishes that she could throttle Bella for whatever she has told her father. If Charlie starts treating Seth differently . . .

"They were out running when I passed them," Leah explains as Charlie begins shaking hands with Embry. She readjusts her features into nonchalance and tries to ignore Bella entirely. "They asked if they could tag along so they could catch up with Bella. I hope you don't mind."

Charlie, busy scrutinising Quil — who obviously looks like a completely different person to when they saw each other last, at the funeral — frowns. "I didn't realise you were all so close," he remarks carefully.

"They're Jake's friends, Dad," Bella says with the barest hint of frustration. But it's clearly not her dad who she's frustrated with — at least, to everyone except Charlie, that is. "I told you — it was just a misunderstanding."

"Hmph." Dissatisfied, Charlie looks away from his daughter and attempts to give Embry and Quil his best show of authority. "I'm afraid that Bella's grounded — for the rest of her life," he tacks on in a mutter, eyes glancing dangerously to his daughter. "You're all welcome, of course, but she won't be able to socialise for long."

"That's okay, Mr. Swan," Embry says. "We just wanted to make sure Leah was alright, in all honesty. We can wait outside and see Bella another time."

"Well, that's —" Charlie nods once, his expression softening just a little, and Leah knows that they have won. "That's really nice of you boys. I'm sure Sue appreciates that."

"It's no trouble, sir," Quil assures him earnestly.

Embry salutes Bella with a lazy flick of his fingers. "See ya, Bella. Bye, Mr. Swan. Thanks."

"Yeah, thanks, Mr. Swan. See you around, Bella."

"Bye," the girl mutters.

Embry and Quil brush Leah's shoulders reassuringly as they turn back the way they came. She swears that Embry even gives her another Look, warning her to keep her attitude in check. "We'll be by the car. Take your time."

Leah nods, watching them go, but she still can't help notice that Bella is staring at the Rabbit again when Charlie shuts the door behind them.

* * *

"Those boys," Charlie says five minutes later, jerking his head towards the kitchen window through which Embry and Quil can be seen loitering on the end of the driveway. Bella has scurried upstairs and is probably watching them from her own window, too. "One of them your boyfriend?"

Leah's eyes widen, and then she laughs. Loudly. "Really? _Them?_ No. They're just . . . friends. Sort of."

Ever the cop, Charlie questions, "What do you mean, _sort of . . ._?"

"I've only just started hanging out with them, really. They're nice kids."

"Kids. Right." Sceptical, Charlie opens the freezer. "I thought they were Sam Uley's friends."

"They are."

"Oh." Scepticism turns to confusion. He presses further on. "But you and Sam, you're not—"

"God, no. It's a whole separate thing."

(Separate in that Leah still very much wants to murder her ex-boyfriend but will let Embry and Quil live — that is, if they stop keeping their secrets and tell her where the hell they have been all week. Where Jacob has been.)

"Right," Charlie says again. Then he shakes his head. "Sorry, kiddo, I guess I'm getting a little bit — well, you know, with your Dad gone now, I feel like I should . . ." Charlie has never been a man of too many words, never one for emotion or speeches or affection. He shakes his head. "As long as you're okay, I guess, that's all that matters."

Leah shrugs noncommittally as Charlie wraps up the fish and begins rooting around for an old grocery bag.

"And your mom?" he asks. "Seth? Are they . . . okay?"

"Mom hasn't . . ." Leah struggles to find the right words. She knows Charlie better, perhaps, than even her blood-uncles, better than the two boys who are dutifully waiting for her outside. Charlie is a practical man, not an emotional one. "She hasn't been great, but she's getting better. Thanks so much for doing this again — it's the first thing she's shown any interest in since . . . well, you know."

Charlie hands over the bag with a look of shame. "I _am_ sorry that I haven't been to see you all. What with Bella and all, I've not been the greatest friend to your family."

"S'ok. Once she gets this —" Leah says, holding up the paper bag and trying not to think too much about what is exactly inside (she may have been her father's replacement fishing buddy during those summer weeks Charlie spent with Bella in California, but she didn't exactly enjoy it — especially not the part which came after) "— then I'm sure she'll want you to be the first to taste whether she got the recipe right or not."

Charlie nods, still looking apologetic. "I hope so. I'll visit soon, I promise."

"Must have been bad," Leah hedges shamelessly, her chin lifting slightly to the ceiling. She wonders if Bella is trying to listen in on the conversation, or if she's just too busy staring at Embry, Quil and the Rabbit from her bedroom window.

"You've no idea," Charlie sighs. "She skips two states — she went all the way to L.A. I kid you not, just to chase after a boy who left her without a care in the world!" His cheeks turn a little red in clear anger. "But of course _I_ didn't know that until she came home two days later with that same boy in tow, all because of a _misunderstanding_ or something. I don't know. It doesn't sit right with me."

Leah has a feeling that Charlie hasn't had a chance to vent to anybody else about this yet. She wonders how mad he'd really be if he knew the truth. How can he _not_ know the truth? Or rather, how can Bella lie to him like it? Leah doesn't know much about vampires (and, she thinks, she doesn't really have the inclination to learn — not after what they have done to the boys, and her ancestors before that), but she's not all too sure she'd be able to let her boyfriend around her parents if she knew what he really was.

"Is that you talking as Chief, or her dad?" Leah asks.

". . . Both," Charlie decides. "He left her dangling without a word for all those months. I mean, you saw it at Christmas, and you can bet that I told that sister of his as much before she took off with Bella — it was like the night of the living dead around here," he continues, though it sounds like he's ranting to himself now, more than anything. "And the _nightmares! . . ._ No. I don't trust it. I don't trust _him._ "

"Wow, Chief," Leah butts in before the man can explode. He's positively purple. "Come to the Rez for a bit. Seriously. You need to get out more."

The colour from Charlie's face slowly starts to fade, and he smiles a little ruefully. "Sorry, kiddo. I bet you didn't give your old man this much trouble, huh?"

Leah smiles back, if only because it's nice to hear someone talk about Harry without apologising for it afterwards. Her father died nine days ago and it's already starting to feel as if he never existed, as if people are frightened to acknowledge that he ever did.

"I wouldn't be so sure. I nearly set the house on fire burning old things of Sam's once, photographs and stuff, you know. I'd never seen Dad so mad. Except for when I told him that I wasn't going to college anymore, maybe."

Charlie chuckles. "I remember him telling me about that."

They share another smile. And though Leah's chest feels a little tight, at least she's not on the verge of tears. It means she's able to turn away without feeling awkward, and wave her free hand in the general direction of Quil and Embry. "I better go before the children get into any trouble."

"Children," Charlie scoffs, but he follows her out of the kitchen anyway.

They find Bella sitting at the bottom of the stairs. "Are you going?" she asks, and Leah nods warily, wondering how long the girl has been there for. Not that she particularly cares. In fact, she hopes Bella heard what her father has had to say about her. "Okay. I'm just going to wave them off, Dad."

Charlie sighs. "Edward's on his way, isn't he?"

"Probably. It's nearly time."

Leah blinks innocently. She can play dumb, if she wants to; Charlie didn't specify that they were back together. Probably because he doesn't want to acknowledge it even if they are. "Oh. Is he back in town for good, then?"

"He is." Bella raises her chin with what's probably meant to be pride — or defensiveness, perhaps — but it has the opposite effect: Leah has to press her mouth in a tight line just so that she doesn't laugh.

"That's nice," she says, her words polite enough that she couldn't possibly be accused of being rude.

"Yes," Charlie says with no small amount of displeasure about the fact that the Cullens have returned _._ "But you're still grounded, Bells — just because I let him into this house —"

"Dad," Bella moans. She pointedly looks at Leah. "Not now, okay?"

Charlie harrumphs loudly, but Leah just smiles sweetly. "Thanks again for the fish, Charlie. As soon as Mom gets the recipe down I'll send some right over."

"You do that, honey." He pats her back a little awkwardly. "You're welcome anytime. I'll be up to see Sue as soon as I can, okay?"

"Sure, sure. See you. Thanks."

Bella scowls. "I'll walk you out."

They walk in silence out of the house and onto the weather-worn porch; Bella is already focused on the red car, on Embry and Quil, and her scowl deepens impossibly further.

"I'm just borrowing it," Leah tells the girl, putting her out of her misery.

"I wasn't—" Bella starts, but she is cut off by the sound of an engine's deep, resonating growl as a silver car peels around the curve in the road at speed. Its engine is barely turned off before the door is opened, and out of it jumps —

Leah has never seen one of the Cullens before. She can see the appeal, she guesses — Edward's messy hair, his pale skin, his perfectly aligned features, those dark purple shadows around his eyes which compliments the edgy, 'emo' sort of look, but she knows who he really is. _What_ he really is.

Edward's eyes snap to her as he passes, but he doesn't stop. He just carries on, walking faster than is probably normal. But, then, it's not really like anyone is watching. Not anyone who would think it was _weird_ , anyway. Charlie has probably stomped his way back to the television.

Edwards bears down on Bella, hands running lightly over her hair, her shoulders, her arms. "You're okay," he murmurs, as if reassuring himself. "Alice, she couldn't see you . . ."

Leah can't hear the rest. She carries on walking down the driveway, towards Embry and Quil who have become living statues as they both lean against the rear of the Rabbit and watch the scene before them with narrowed eyes. Only Quil blindly extends a hand towards her, beckoning her further towards them both. _Hurry up,_ he seems to be saying, although his eyes do not stop tracking every movement of his enemy's.

"Let's go," Leah mutters, opening the front door. She puts the bag of Charlie's fish down in between the handbrake and the gear stick for the minute, hoping it will stay steady enough until she can either pass it off to one of the boys to hold onto while—

Embry breaks the chilling silence with a derisive scoff. "I thought he'd be bigger, honestly."

Quil hums his agreement. "Bit flash, isn't he? Shame he spent all that money on that silver piece of shit. Bet he could afford an Aston Martin or —"

"All that fuss," Embry carries on musing over the sound of his friend. "If Jake hadn't — hadn't _y_ _ou know_ _what,_ then I reckon he could have taken him. Easily."

"Reckon he still could. We still could."

There is a pause, and then Embry says, "You're right."

In an all too-decisive move, he pushes himself off the Rabbit just as Leah spins round. _No!_ "Embry," she hisses, "don't you dare!"

Embry just grins. He is suddenly all the more confident in his new body; he squares his shoulders and straightens his back, the picture of someone ready to meet his fate — and Quil, following his friend's lead, snaps to attention and steps forward with him at exactly the same time. Leah thinks that this is probably more wolf stuff, working in tandem like this. Everything she's learned so far about what they can do, their abilities, it all falls into place seeing them like this. They're in sync with barely a thought to it, without even needing to communicate with one other.

"Leah," Embry says over his shoulder. "Go and start the car."

She runs after him, pushing her way between his and Quil's hulking frames, ready to pull them back if she must. "You can't —" she begins to protest, but Embry's arm snaps out to stop her.

No, not to stop her, she realises. To hold her back.

"Edward," Bella is saying as she, too, hurriedly rushes to put herself in between a vampire and two wolves, "you don't need to do this now."

"I'll just be a moment, love," he replies and, as they stare at each other with an intensity to burn the trees behind them, a small noise comes from the back of Leah's throat which might very well be a gag. It has Edward looking over at her with no small amount of disapproval. Or maybe it's disgust. She's not sure, but the result is Quil's hand tightening over her shoulder in response.

Edward closes his eyes for a moment, and takes a deep, deep breath. When he opens them again, he looks like a different person entirely. Almost as if he's . . . nice, and kind.

Leah knows better.

He takes the last few steps forwards and greets them. "Gentlemen," he says, nodding to Quil and Embry. Then he looks down at Leah — honestly, he looks _down_ at her, like she is a speck of dirt on his shoe — and adds, "You must be Leah Clearwater."

It is very easy for Leah to firm her chin and stare back with similar hatred. "What of it?"

"You upset Bella this morning."

"And she's upset my family," Leah fires back. This is the creature which has changed her brother's life. Jacob's life. Her life. If this . . . thing hadn't moved into town, then she would still be with Sam. Fuck, she wishes with her whole being that she could split her skin like they call can. She wishes that she was taller and stronger, that she could fight _this_ with them.

It's not a fight she would lose.

"I am not keeping a scorecard, Leah Clearwater." And when Quil and Embry bare their teeth at him, he says, "Perhaps I should start."

When he doesn't receive answer that is not a snarl, Edward pulls himself to his full height — as if it will really make a difference, standing before Embry and Quil who are almost a whole foot taller than he is. Leah feels a laugh bubble in her chest.

"Who of you is authorised to speak for your pack?"

Embry and Quil look at each other over the top of Leah's head, the look on their faces rivalled in fury, and she stares at Embry until his eyes eventually flicker downwards and meet hers.

"Depends what you want, leech," Quil is the one to say.

Edward's face tightening in response is the only indication that the word might have stung. "I would like to speak with Jacob Black, if you are amenable."

"Not happening," Leah growls. She has no idea where this comes from, this fierce protectiveness she suddenly has for Jake — she felt it when Quil phased for the first time and she has tried _so hard_ to not think about it since. She's been trying to not think about a lot of things, where he is concerned.

"Where is Jacob?" Bella asks for the second time that hour. "I mean. Where is he _really_?"

It is only the fear of having to take either Embry or Quil home with one of their limbs missing which stops Leah from telling Bella what she really thinks. _See here, you selfish bitch,_ she'd probably start, _you and I are going to_ —

Things still go to shit, very, very quickly. Before Leah has blinked again she sees Edward has taken a step forward without her really _seeing_ it, which is the strangest thing. His body has dipped into a slight crouch, and the low snarl which rips out from behind his bared teeth makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Embry and Quil react in kind: they push Leah back until she is blocked by both of their hulking frames, their skin radiating warmth which is almost suffocating, and she is reminded of the moments before Quil phased in the middle of his backyard.

Well, at least she's not on the floor this time.

"Back off, bloodsucker."

"Edward, no!"

"Walk away, parasite."

"Do not," Leah can hear said bloodsucking parasite spitting through his teeth over them all, "think of Bella in that manner."

Embry looks at Quil, and then down at Leah. "What are you _talking_ . . . Oh, for . . ." He shudders, head snapping back to Edward. "You're the mind-reader. _Fuck._ Jake said something about that."

"Doesn't mean he has to listen in, does it," Quil says, voice low and dangerous.

"It's not as if I can help it," Edward snaps back. "And, it seems, neither can you. Your . . . _hive_ _mind_ sounds very interesting, I have to admit." He pauses, during which Leah tries to push her way back into the middle of Quil and Embry. Their bodies are tense, and Quil — poor Quil is trembling, obviously trying extremely hard to contain himself, and it is a stark reminder of how new to this life he is.

"Stay out of our —"

"What is an imprint?" Edward asks then, head tilting curiously.

"That's none of your goddamn business, you self-righteous—" Embry starts with a terrifying growl, at exactly the same time Bella pipes, "A what?"

"Really?" Edward sounds genuinely intrigued, sounding as if he has ignored them both and is carrying on another conversation, and Leah realises that he has plucked something from one of the boys' heads which they have probably inadvertently thought of. She can't blame them, really. Not when her own thoughts are what has put them in this situation.

Quil's lack of control allows Leah to work her way through the tiniest of gaps between him and Embry, and she shoots the most foul look at the vampire. The bloodsucker. Leech. Parasite. "If that's true and you're just going to pick your way through their _brains_ then —"

"I've already explained that I can't help it," Edward shoots back in that disgustingly rich voice. He shakes his head, and then rights himself again. He looks directly at Embry, who Leah supposes is the one with most authority out of the wolves present. "When your pack has stabilised, please inform your Alpha that I would speak with him at his earliest convenience about Victoria. I'll only ask: We've found no trace of her on our side of the line — have you?"

Whatever the boys think must be satisfactory, because Edward nods before they can answer. He takes Bella's hand, and he leads her into the house without any farewell. Only she looks back, but Edward drags her on until they've disappeared inside.

She breathes in once, twice, watching the door close behind them. And then she opens her mouth, finally having thought of the right words she wants to yell, but Embry says, "Wait. Get in the car. Quil — cut it out, man. Calm down. We're done here."

It is not enough to stop Quil's tremors.

When Embry snatches the keys from her fingers and sits himself in the driver's seat, Leah does not fight him. Quil, who is still visibly struggling, gets in before her and sprawls over the backseats, his head buried in his hands. He makes no other sound.

Breathing deeply again and ignoring the slightest smell of fish already defrosting, Leah snaps her seatbelt into place and waits all of one minute of listening to the blood pound in her ears before—

"Embry," she demands quietly, which is decidedly more dangerous than yelling as planned, "what exactly did that . . . _thing_ mean when he said ' _stabilised'_? Has something else happened you're not telling me about? And don't give me shit about _I've been ordered not to tell you,_ because I don't want to hear any more of your crap excuses —"

"Calm down, okay?"

"No! I want to know what happened — what the fuck that was about! Why the hell was he talking about imprints —"

Embry speeds through Forks. "I can't tell you everything —"

"Fine! What _can_ you tell me, then!" Leah's noise of frustration fills the car.

Behind them, Quil lifts his head from his hands just enough to be heard properly and says, "Tell her, Em."

"If it's to do with Jake, then I . . ." She stops, because she honestly doesn't know how she was going to finish that sentence. She would _what_ , exactly? What is she going to do that's going to make any kind of difference?

"I need to know," she finishes lamely. "Just — tell me. Please."


	19. eighteen

_i heard your heart beating / you were in the darkness too / so i stayed in the darkness with you_   
_Florence + The Machine, "Cosmic Love"_

* * *

_**eighteen** **.** _

* * *

_(Leah)_

Every summer, from the year of Jacob's birth until the year his mother died, the Blacks and Clearwaters would pack up their gear and spend four, glorious long days camping together. It had become something of a tradition during those nine years, something religiously upheld, and when it had finally come to an end — when Sarah had died, that tradition had died with her.

Leah hasn't thought back to that time for a while, perhaps for the same reason her family and Jacob's never camped together again: the very idea of it was too painful, going without Sarah — and now, Leah thinks, without Harry too. But she can remember it perfectly. She remembers that, for the whole hike, no matter what age they were, the twins would drag their feet and their parents would bicker — but that she, Jacob and Seth loved every second of it. She remembers the hours she would waste climbing the hemlock tree once they had arrived; she remembers the whole afternoons she would spend pushing her brother into the lake and jumping in right after him. She remembers sitting at the fire, listening as Harry and Billy retold their stories and as Sarah and Sue reminisced together until nobody could keep their eyes open anymore. And when it was time to leave, Leah remembers how she would cry. Every year.

She has returned to that place only a few times since. Once, the week after Sarah's funeral, Leah had found Rachel and Rebecca there when they'd packed a bag and ran away. Hell, she'd ran there herself when Sam ended their relationship — though Rach and Beck had never found _her_ ; they'd already left La Push by then. _Nobody_ had found her, because they hadn't known where to look.

But as soon as Embry had let slip about the lake, Leah had known she'd find Jacob here. And she's hiked for two hours just to get to this very spot, fuelled by her increasing, inexplicable need to see him, to make sure he is okay.

( _They nearly killed each other_ , Embry had said. _Sam found out that — that something had happened, and he lost it. Completely lost it. Jake, he was just defending himself. He couldn't help it._

But she hadn't cared whether Sam had been hurt. _What? What did he find out?_

Embry pulled a face. _I can't tell you. Jake made me promise. I'm not sure, but I think . . ._ He shook his head. _You don't understand, Leah. The pack was in shambles after the fight — we've never been so disorganised. My head felt like it was going to explode. And afterwards, when he made us swear . . . Well, I don't think he realised what he was doing, that he was actually giving us an order. I don't think we realised. Not until afterwards._

 _Who —_ Her eyes burned as she swallowed, throat thick. A part of her knew the truth; she had realised it as soon as Embry had begun to speak. It was like being told something she already knew. And she had no logical explanation for how she did — she just _knew_.

 _Jake._ )

He is sitting by the old hemlock tree when she finds him. She is exhausted on all counts, her feet in her ruined sneakers are aching, but she finds her voice to call out to him.

"Jake?"

He doesn't answer at first. His eyes stare up unseeingly at the darkening sky, and for one wild moment the most awful thought crosses Leah's mind: he's dead; she is too late, she has lost him — what is it that makes him hers to lose? — but then his head lolls against the bark, and their eyes meet. He blinks slowly, once, twice, almost as if he can't quite believe who he is looking at —

No. He's not okay. He's dirty, yes; every bare inch of skin looks as if he's been dragged along the muddy banks of the lake: his neck, his naked chest, his arms — he's filthy. But mercifully, he looks unharmed and Leah breathes a sigh of immense relief at the sight of him even as his eyes shine with tears and his lower lip trembles.

"N—no, don't," he starts to protest when she moves to sit beside him, quiet and careful. "You'll get dirty, I'm okay — I —"

Leah ignores him and lowers herself down anyway as he chokes back a sob. "I'm being stupid," he mumbles around shaky breaths, "you didn't need to — you shouldn't have come."

"I'll go home and send Embry along then, should I? Or Quil?" There's no heat to her words. Just plain weariness as she settles down on the ground and stretches her legs out before her, battling with an urge to brush his hair back from his forehead, to comfort him, but somehow she manages to keep her hands in her lap. The feeling has startled her enough that she has to clamp down on it, turn away from it — from Jacob, from everything that has a chance of hurting her.

"I had a hard time keeping them at bay, you know," she continues lightly, "— they wanted to come and kick your ass, but I grounded them."

"You — what?" Jacob sniffs, wiping hurriedly at the tears which have begun to stream down his reddened face.

"It's not their fault, really. I shouldn't have been so mad when I knew they couldn't tell me the whole story anyway. I heard enough, though. Just had to figure the rest out for myself."

Although Jacob freezes, the back of his hand stilling against his cheek, he struggles to keep the rest of himself in check as a storm of emotions flit across his face, ultimately betraying him. His pain turns into pure, undiluted terror, anger and a little bit of something else — something which Leah thinks might be . . . hope?

"Figure it out?" he asks in an extremely quiet voice.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm not stupid. I know first hand how much of an ass he is, how badly he can overreact. And as much as I can sympathise with the whole wanting to rip his throat out thing, Jake, because believe me, _I know . . ._ Did you really have to go and fight with him like that? Embry said he nearly killed you, and I —"

"Wait. Sam? You think this —" Jacob gestures wildly around him "— is about _Sam?"_

"Well, yeah," she says slowly. "What else is it about?"

"You said you'd . . . I thought . . ."

His shoulders shake as he drops his head, trying to hide that his eyes are suddenly brimming with tears again. It only takes a few seconds before the last of his restraint finally bubbles over his lips and he sobs harder than ever before.

Maybe Leah doesn't want to feel _this,_ but Jacob is her _friend_ for God's sake, and she can't stop herself from reaching out for him this time. "Oh, Jake."

He immediately sags underneath her touch, breaking completely; he leans into her as quickly as she gathers him up in her arms and falls back against the tree, taking his weight with her. She runs her hand down the nape of his neck, his sides. Anywhere she can reach. He has done this for her before, she thinks. She can do it for him.

Despite his massive frame, Jacob curls up like a child beside her: he presses his face against her neck and tangles his legs with hers, his fingers clutching desperately at her sweaty Mariners sweater. She doesn't know where she begins, where Jacob ends; she can't feel or see or hear or breath anything except him all over her, and . . . she doesn't care, not even when his arms wrap tightly enough around her waist that she knows he'll leave bruises.

"I'm sorry. I thought I could do it, but I can't. Not anymore. It hurts _so much_ ," he moans into her skin, "and I — I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just _can't_ , I can't stay away anymore. I don't _want_ to. It's killing me."

The litany of stuttered apologies continues to seep out of him as quickly as his tears. She has never seen him like this, shattered and weak and so utterly broken. It's both frightening and heart-breaking, painful and scary. And it hurts her, too; Leah can _feel_ his agony, but there is nothing she can do except card her fingers through his hair to soothe him — to soothe _them_ — because she cannot reach anywhere else, because she doesn't know what else to do except hold him and wait for it to pass.

It is a long, long time before he calms.

Slowly, his hold on her eases and he takes deep, shuddering breaths against her neck until he can lift his head. The sun has set, but she can still see the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks.

"What is it, Jake?" she finally asks, her hands still running through his dark hair. He is so, so warm. "What's so bad that you had to come all the way out here, if it's not about Sam?"

"I can't tell you," he mumbles miserably, averting his eyes. He sniffs loudly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to just . . . cry all over you. God, I'm so pathetic."

"I know pathetic," Leah tells him plaintively, "and believe me, you're not it."

"You're not, either, if that's what you mean."

A miserable sigh leaves her, but Leah can't tell whether the despair is solely her own or is from what has been bleeding out so profusely from Jacob. She did mean that — she _is_ pathetic — but she doesn't have the strength to argue. "Can you really not tell me?"

His throat bobs. "You'll hate me."

"So it's not because you can't. It's because you won't." _Can't, won't_ — it's always the same excuse nowadays, and the familiarity of it has her bristling in her annoyance.

"Please don't make me say it," Jacob pleads, voice fading to a whisper which is barely audible over even the quiet of the forest around them. "Not yet."

The agony in his voice has Leah sighing in defeat. She doesn't believe that it was Sam who had him so upset — nor that she could ever truly hate Jacob in spite of what he thinks — but she doesn't ask. And he doesn't tell her.

It's something bad. It has to be.

Something awful.

"Okay," she says. "Not yet."

* * *

They sit in silence for an even longer while after that, still tangled together underneath the tree. Jacob's hands continue to brand her skin with their heat as she stares into the darkness which has settled over the clearing — but despite what is hanging in the air, all that has been left unsaid, it's not an awkward silence. Now that she's calm, it's . . . nice, actually. Just being here.

They don't speak at all, not until his stomach gives a traitorous rumble. They have been so wrapped up in their silence that they're both startled by the sound and have to laugh at themselves.

"Hungry?"

"I'm okay."

She smiles wryly. "Liar."

Jacob huffs. "I ate all the food." He leans to the side, answering her unspoken question by showing her a bag nearby which she hasn't noticed before now. Its zipper is half open, and wrappers, chip packets and empty bottles can be seen through the opening.

Leah recognises the pattern on the fraying fabric and eyes it with surprise more than suspicion. "Where did you get that?"

Jacob leans back, settling beside her again. "Seth. He's been . . . coming by."

So that's where her brother has been running off to at all hours, why he's so rarely been home. She knew he couldn't have been out on patrol for all that time. Nobody in her family is very good at lying. Perhaps to themselves, maybe, but . . .

"That little punk."

Jacob sniffs, a half-smile appearing on his still watery features. "He's a good kid."

Leah hums, untangling her legs from Jacob's and ignoring the sudden loss she feels. "I suppose," she says, shivering. "He's been avoiding me these last few days," — _everyone has been avoiding me_ — "so the jury's out on that one."

Jacob frowns. "Are you cold?"

"No." It's impossible to be, sitting so close to him. "God knows you're like your very own space heater."

"Bit hotter than that. I'm running at a toasty-warm one-oh-nine these days."

Leah throws him a half-hearted look of reproach. "No need to sound so cocky about it."

Apart from his eyes which are still a little bloodshot, Jacob looks like his old self when he smiles sunnily back at her. He is so _young_. For all her griping that Embry and Quil are just kids, for all her joking about babysitting them, she forgets that he is the same age as them — that Jacob is just sixteen.

"It's the small wins." He squeezes her gently before his hand slowly withdraws from her hip and settles around her shoulder instead. "Besides, you feel warm to me, too."

"I am warm," she tells him. It might nearly be the end of March in Washington and they might be sitting on the ground, in the middle of the forest under the cover of darkness, but even wrapped up in her dad's old Mariners sweater Leah is warmer than she knows she has a right to be.

"That's not what I meant," Jake says, and he suddenly sounds sad again. Wistful, even. "Nothing feels warm to me anymore. Just the pack and — and you, now."

"I'm not pack, though."

"Yes, you are," he insists, so fiercely that the raise of her eyebrows is more so aimed at the rapid change of his moods rather than the answer he gives. He'll be falling on four paws next, if she's not careful.

"I don't know how Sam would feel about that," she remarks dryly, considering the dim gleam of the water's edge again just so that she doesn't have to look at the outrage in Jacob's eyes, "but it's nice that you think so."

"I know so."

Leah takes a breath, steeling herself for the answer she has been wondering about for hours — since Embry told her about the aftermath of Jacob and Sam's fight. "Is that because you're the Alpha now?" she dares finally ask. "You say it's so, and that's that?"

Jacob stiffens, his arm becoming a heavy weight over her. His fingers dig into her bicep, the heat of them like an open flame even through her sweatshirt.

"How does it work?" she presses when he doesn't answer. "You and Sam tore chunks out of each other, for what? So you can take charge?"

"I'm sorry for hurting Sam," Jacob says, as if on auto-pilot. As if that is the response she wants to hear, so that is the one he has given, except he doesn't really mean it.

"I don't care that you did," she replies just as quickly, an automatic, programmed response of her own. But there's a difference: what she says is true; what she says, she really means. She doesn't tell people what they want to hear, as she has suspected Jacob of doing before.

"I didn't just hurt him, Leah," Jacob protests, and she doesn't understand – it's almost like Jake wants her to be mad at him, like he _wants_ her to fly off the handle. "Embry was wrong. He didn't nearly kill _me,_ I nearly killed _him_."

Well, tough shit, she thinks, because she's not mad. Not in the slightest. Not with Jacob, anyway.

"I had him pinned," Jake continues, valiantly digging his own grave. "I had him, Leah – and — and I could have killed him if I wanted to."

"Good," she says bleakly. "Why didn't you?"

Jacob shakes his head. "You don't mean that. If I had — if I hadn't stopped, I mean, you would never have forgiven me. I don't think you could forgive me _that_ much. And Emily . . . I couldn't do that. Never in a million years."

"You think I give a shit about her?"

". . . No," Jacob admits after a lengthy pause, "but I do." And then, before Leah can find it within herself to laugh scornfully at him, he adds, "It's just about the worst thing you could do to someone who's imprinted. There's laws, you know – if we hurt an imprint then it's a fight to the death. But what happens if you kill the wolf who imprinted on her? I think you'd just end up killing her, too."

"Or him."

"Or him," Jacob says agreeably, the barest hint of a smile on his face, "but thankfully you've not phased, otherwise there would have been an uprising long before now."

The little snort which flies out of Leah is entirely one of self-satisfaction. She knows what Jacob is trying to do. He's trying to distract her. And it works, for a while. "You're damn right there would have been."

Jacob huffs a laugh. "If Rach and Beck were still around and you had all phased, the three of you would have taken over. I'm sure of it."

He has no idea how much she'd wanted all of that to be true, standing in front of a vampire only a short few hours ago. She hums and pushes the loose hair which has escaped from her long ponytail out of her face. She can't tell him about what had happened with Edward. So instead, she asks, "Do you think I would have imprinted?"

Hesitance grips him. "Is that . . . Is that something you want? Really?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it," she admits. It's been the last thing she's wanted to consider, if only because that means she will have to think about Sam and Emily.

She won't, except . . .

Leah swallows harshly around the words stuck in her throat, and when she does manage to speak next it is little more than above a croak. "Would it go away, feeling so awful all the time, if I did? Because Quil wasn't far off, you know. What he said before he phased. I'm a total bitch these days. If I found someone — or someone found me, even, then maybe . . . maybe I wouldn't be."

"You're not a bitch," Jacob says automatically.

"I am. You agreed with me, remember? In fact, I seem to recall that you said you _kinda liked it_."

"No, I said that I kinda liked you biting people's heads off." Jacob nudges her, but it's more playful than anything else. "Don't twist my words. Just because you don't hold any punches when you let people know what's on your mind, that doesn't mean that you're a bitch."

She quirks an eyebrow, seeing her opening. "Is that another Alpha decree?"

"Quil was wrong to say what he did," Jacob says instead of acknowledging the jab, clearly trying to distract her still. "I know he's sorry for it."

It works. "I know. He told me."

She repeats Quil's apology, and Jake laughs when she adds the part where Quil said he'd walk her non-existent dog for a month if he meant that she'd forgive him. "I was only teasing him, but that damn puppy face of his made me feel so guilty that I think I should actually get a dog just so he can walk it."

"You'd never have to pay him for it, either. He'd do it forever if it meant you'd forgive him. Trust me."

"I didn't know he felt that bad about it." Now _she_ feels guilty. "It's not like it was his fault or anything, was it? I was the one who wanted to . . . Well, if I had been ripped to shreds then let's just say it wouldn't have been nobody's fault but my own."

Jacob shudders. "I wouldn't have let that happen."

Fleetingly, in spite of all her desire not to, Leah thinks of Emily's face. If it could happen to _her_ . . . "Then you would have just gotten hurt instead."

"We heal fast, you know. You can't see it now, but it's not exactly like I walked away with a few minor scratches or anything. It took two days before I could walk straight."

Shit. "Is this the part where you say something like, _Should have seen the other guy?_ "

Jacob grunts. "Seth said he's back on his feet, at least."

"Meanwhile you've just been here," Leah continues joking, teasing, because she can't afford to react to the thought of Jacob being that horribly injured, or to consider that she had spent all that time not knowing a thing about it . . . He has been trying to distract her, and now she is trying to distract herself. "Sulking, because you lost."

Jacob's lips twist without humour. "Sulking. Sure," he grumbles as she begins extracting herself from his arms. "Wait — where are you going?"

"Home. Are you coming?"

He sighs over the sound of her brushing herself down. "You know I can't."

"Sure you can. You think I came out all this way just to have a chat and then leave you again? I risked vampires and all sorts to see you."

"I'm flattered, but isn't Cullen territory," Jacob tells her with a vague sense of amusement. "They can't come here. And the inner northern perimeter isn't too far away — we've got that line secured against anything else. It's so close that I've been able to hear the pack on patrol."

"So you're not worried."

"I'm always worried," he says seriously. Too seriously, for what she is trying to do: to tease him, to goad him into following her. It's like playing a game with a petulant toddler. "But, no, I'm not worried. Not about any bloodsuckers."

"Well, I hope that's true and you boys are looking out tonight otherwise I might end up as something's dinner."

Jacob closes his eyes and takes several seconds to inhale just as many deep breaths, during which Leah has to bite back her smile. "What you're doing," he says, feigning calm, "— reverse psychology, or whatever. It's not going to work."

"Oh, come on, Jake. You've got to go home."

"No chance."

"Fine. Don't come home. But you're going to have to sort it at some point, whatever it is. Just shake on it with Sam. Do _something_! Billy needs you!"

Jacob laughs hollowly. "I don't think it works quite as easily as that, honey."

"So make it work," she shoots back, although it's more of a mumble and she can feel the heat rising into her cheeks — and it's not because she's angry. _Honey_. Right. Well, it's not as if he means it like _that_ , is it?

"Sure, sure. Whatever you say."

"Well, I do say. You think I'm pack, right? So you have to listen to me. So there."

"I'm pretty sure I'd listen to anything you have to say anyway," he replies, staring up at her, and the sincerity in his eyes does nothing for the heat still displayed upon her cheeks. It's hard to look away when his eyes blaze like that, leaving her unable to doubt any word he says.

Leah sighs at herself. _Get a grip._

"Fine _._ You want to do this the hard way? Here it is. You go make it up with Sam. Or don't make it up with Sam. Keep changing the subject instead of telling me what's really wrong with you. You can even go off and be Alpha if that's what you want! I seriously don't care all that much, to be quite honest with you!" It's a lie, of course. "But the way Embry said it, it sounded like not knowing either way is making it pretty rough on everyone else and I won't stand for it. _Nobody_ is going to mess up Seth's life more than it already is. I'll kill them first. _So get up."_

She even swings her foot at his leg for good measure.

And Jacob, asshole that he is, simply cracks a smile, her threat having had the completely opposite effect. "I'd like to see that."

She doesn't smile back as she hitches the rucksack of empty wrappers over her shoulder, pulling the strap tight. Glaring at him.

It takes a moment, but eventually he gives in. His groan is more than exaggerated when he gets to his feet. "Whatever. I guess that I should know by now you're not happy unless you're throwing your weight around," he grumbles. It's just an excuse — she knows that. She knows _him_. Too well to take offence.

It's rather funny, actually, his half-hearted attempt to blame the temptation of going home on her. Especially when he is the one who takes the lead, often turning back to make sure that she's keeping up.

He even takes the bag from her.

Asshole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically four-thousand plus something words of these two bonding, challenging each other. Call it laying the foundations before a grand reveal? I'm not even sorry.


	20. nineteen

_there's something happening here / there's something here that i just can't explain / i know i'm where i belong / deep down inside i am no longer lost_   
_Snow Patrol, "I Won't Let You Go"_

* * *

**nineteen** **.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

They have been hiking for nearly a whole half hour in their own contemplative silences when, after imagining what her mother must have thought when Quil Ateara showed up to pass on Charlie's fish (and blathering whatever excuse he'd made up for her absence), Leah is reminded of a promise she has made.

"Jake?"

"Hmm?"

"You think your dad would let me use his boat to go fishing sometime?"

Without breaking stride, Jacob looks back at her over his shoulder from several steps ahead. She can just about see his look of bewilderment in the moonlight slipping through the trees high above. "That's . . . random. Why do you want to go fishing?"

"Charlie gave me half the contents in his freezer this afternoon so my mom could start practicing Dad's recipe," she explains slowly, carefully. She doesn't want to admit what happened on Chief Swan's driveway, but she also doesn't want to have to sail out into the harbour on her own. "I promised that I'd replace it."

"Charlie . . . ?" Jacob frowns. "You went to Forks today?"

Oh, shit. "Uh — yeah. It's kind of a long story. But I want to go. Fishing, I mean," she says hurriedly. "I know Old Quil's boat is better, but I don't really want to have to ask him for a favour."

Leah finally matches Jake's impossibly long strides that have faltered in his confusion. She looks up at him, watching as his expression smooths out into something softer. It's hard to keep track of his ever-changing moods as it is, let alone being the recipient of such . . . such _affection_. It must be another wolf thing, she decides — their hormones must be bent right out of shape or something, especially when they're exploding right out of their skin all the time.

Or maybe he's just feeling sorry for her. The smile she receives is small, kind of sad, but nonetheless tender. Sympathetic. "Honey, you know Charlie probably doesn't expect you to go to that kind of trouble, right? I don't think it was a favour for a favour; he'd do anything for you guys."

Leah shrugs her shoulders, hot under Jacob's gaze. She's having trouble enough keeping her feet moving in a straight line. "I know, but . . ." She can only shrug again. "I still want to go. Will you come with me?"

"Sure." It's another immediate, knee-jerk response, but she appreciates it nonetheless — even if Jake clearly doesn't understand why exactly this is something she needs to do. "When do you want to go?"

"Whenever. Next weekend, maybe? Unless you're busy. Don't worry about it if you are, it was just a thought."

"I've already said I'll go with you. As soon as I have some time off, okay?"

She nods, and it's quiet again for a while — but she's expecting it when Jacob finally speaks again. She's practically heard the gears turning in his head.

"I, uh . . . I didn't think you liked Forks."

"I don't," she replies plainly. It's hell on earth, compared to her beloved reservation. "But I like Charlie."

"Yeah, me too." Jacob looks away, feet picking up again, and Leah hurries to keep up beside him. "Did you see Bella?"

"Unfortunately. Embry and Quil held me back, though — don't worry." It's easier to joke. "She seemed human enough. Kept on asking about you."

Leah can feel Jacob's surprise more than she can hear it in his voice when he frowns again and says, "Embry and Quil went with you?" as if he's not even heard her trying to tease him, bait him. As if he doesn't even care about Bella that much after all.

(But of course he does. Everybody knows that he does. And that does _not_ make Leah want to foam at the mouth. Definitely not.)

"I told you it was a long story."

Jacob pointedly inclines his head in their general direction towards home. "Good thing we've got a long way to go still, then."

Leah sighs. He's not going to let this one go.

So she tells him about returning the Rabbit and then spending the morning with his father (which he is surprised about), and then about her mom finally finding her voice after starting to show a vague interest in the world around her (which he is pleased about, and it's kind of sweet). She doesn't tell him about answering the phone in his kitchen and being horrible to Bella on his behalf, however, because she doesn't think he'll appreciate that too much — but she does tell him that Bella was there when they all eventually arrived at Charlie's and that she's allegedly grounded for the rest of her natural life.

Jacob just looks at her dubiously. "I'm still confused about why Quil and Embry went with you."

"I didn't invite them," she protests a little petulantly, still blindly following Jake through the forest. She can't see five steps ahead of her for shit — it's too dark. She hopes he knows where he's going. "It was a spur of the moment thing and then I just . . . ran into them, and they decided to tag along."

"Uh-huh."

"Have you ever tried saying no to Embry?"

Jacob laughs. "Okay, yeah. Fair point. You didn't _literally_ run into them though, did you? Because you know you can use the Rabbit whenever."

"Really?"

His blinks, face sincere. "Of course. I gave you the keys. It wasn't conditional or anything," he says. His voice sounds as if she's insulted him somehow.

"Oh." Stunned, Leah stumbles over a thick root protruding from the ground and feels Jacob's hands shoot out towards her a second before she manages to catch herself in time. "Thanks."

"It's not a big deal, Leah." His hands are still hovering around her like he thinks she might fall again. "You don't need to sound so surprised. You need a car, right?"

She frowns. "It _is_ a big deal. You love that car."

"Yeah, I do, I just didn't think you'd want to use your dad's or anything," he explains simply. "Besides, it's not really like I get to drive the Rabbit much anyway. I'd rather someone did . . . Well, no, that's a lie. Not anyone. But I don't mind if you do."

"Oh."

It's stupid, really, but Leah feels tears threatening to appear from the corners of her eyes. She swallows thickly. Stupid. Really stupid. Stupid that she suddenly can't find her voice to even thank him for understanding her that much when nobody else does.

"Are you okay? I didn't upset you, did I?" Jacob asks worriedly, hands flurrying around her again. "I didn't mean to, I just—"

"You didn't. I . . . Thank you. You're right about —" Leah sniffs, damning the traitorous shake in her voice "— you know, Dad's car." She blinks furiously to clear the blur in her vision, willing the tears away, and has to force herself to start walking again so that she doesn't completely give herself away. "Uhm. Thanks."

Jacob easily falls into step with her. "No problem. Just don't let Embry or Quil swipe the keys from you; they've been trying it with me for months, but I know Em would only put a dent in her. And Quil — he can't even drive a stick shift."

A small smile of guilt plays on her lips which Jacob doesn't miss. Thankfully, he doesn't mention the tears. "I kind of did already. Sorry. Embry — he drove back from Forks, after — well, I didn't stop him. Sorry."

"After what?"

He stops walking so suddenly without warning that Leah trips up again. She groans inwardly, berating herself. "After . . . after we picked up the fish from Charlie."

Jacob stares down at her, searching her face closely, until after what feels like the longest moment he proclaims, "You're lying."

"I'm not."

"You are," he insists. "What happened?"

Leah looks away and attempts to push them on. It really is a long walk. But Jacob pulls her back and holds onto her arm. Damn. He's not going to like this — at all. "Well, uh," she begins awkwardly, "like I said, Bella was there, but, uh, so was that boyfriend of hers —"

" _Cullen?_ "

"— and you know what I'm like, can't keep my mouth shut, although this time it was actually my head that got us into trouble, really, and I couldn't exactly help that —"

Jacob is deathly still. His hold on her arm doesn't hurt, but his grip is tight enough that she can feel the slight tremor snaking its way along his arm. He growls, cutting her off again. "What happened."

Leah cringes underneath his waiting gaze. She doesn't know why. She's never usually the type to balk in the face of danger, which up until this point in her life has mostly consisted of her mother's reproachful looks and a few werewolves losing their shit in front of her. But maybe she is frightened a little bit. Not of Jacob, necessarily — never Jacob — but rather because he is about the only friend she has, and she does not want to fall out with him over a simple white girl. She might not approve of his life choices as much as she approves of Bella fucking Swan's when it comes to love, but Jacob obviously still cares for the girl.

"I must have thought something which wasn't very complimentary about Bella, I guess. I'm pretty sure it was me, anyway, unless Embry and Quil have developed a sudden aversion for the girl —" (which, Leah thinks, she would fully support. She's only human, after all) "— but I don't want to upset you, so can we please just not . . ."

"Did he hurt you."

"No," Leah says honestly, "but you will, if your nails dig into my arm any more than they already are."

Jacob's hand drops as if he has been stung. Leah wonders if she'll have another bruise, but she doesn't dare have a look — if only because of the sudden shame crossing Jake's face. "I wouldn't," he says, his voice still barely controlled. "Hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"I wouldn't," he insists again, impossibly even more adamant this time.

"I know, Jake." She reaches for his hand and tugs. "And Edward didn't either. Embry and Quil were there, and they wouldn't have let anything happen to me — or Bella. I'm sure of it. So come on, let's keep walking, 'kay?"

It takes a moment, but Jacob gives a stiff nod of his head and picks his feet up. He doesn't drop her hand, but instead he threads his fingers through hers and links them together. Leah doesn't mind too much. At least she won't nearly fall down again.

Jacob swallows hard, loud enough for her to hear. "He really didn't hurt you?"

" _No_ , Jake. It was nothing. I mean, the guy spouted a load of bullshit, but he didn't really _do_ anything. It was just empty words."

"Tell me what he said. Please."

"Something about Victoria —" (Jacob's fingers hold hers in an iron grip at that) "— which Embry kindly filled me in on, by the way — as if I needed anything else to worry about, knowing you and Seth are out there chasing after _that_ , thank you very much _._ Then Edward said he wanted to speak to the Alpha when the pack was stabilised, or something. I guess he means you."

"No," Jacob growls. "Not me. Bella's bloodsucker can talk to Sam. He's still in charge, as far as I'm concerned."

"But your fight —"

"That wasn't about me wanting to take over," he snaps fiercely. "I thought you understood that. I don't want to lead."

But she doesn't understand, and she feels like she never will, not completely. Still, she nods as if she does anyway, the bite in his words rolling right off her back. Hormonal wolves.

"Sorry," he mumbles guiltily, squeezing her fingers. "I didn't mean to bite your head off."

"S'okay. I'm sorry, too. I just want to understand, Jake, because you could do it if you wanted to though, right? I've been thinking about this Alpha thing since you first told me about it." The day in her kitchen, the day she'd first learned about Sam and Emily. "I mean, your dad is the Chief."

"Sam's the Chief. Billy's just the figurehead."

" _Yes,_ fine, but Billy was Chief first," Leah says impatiently, beating her impatience back down, "and to everyone else — you know, the mere mortals who don't know the truth, he still is. Your family's always been at the head of our tribe in one way or another, so surely that means _you_ should be for the pack." She sighs. "I guess . . . I guess what I'm really trying to say is that if you didn't want to be — in charge, I mean, then why did you fight with Sam?"

The silence is palpable underneath the dense cover of the trees.

Then Jacob clears his throat. "Just how much did Embry tell you, exactly? Because I really didn't — you gotta believe me, that wasn't what happened. Being born of the right bloodline has been the bane of my life. Yeah, I'm supposed to be in charge. But I said no."

"Why?"

"Funnily enough, being some sort of legendary chief isn't at the top of my to-do list." And then, at the unimpressed glare Leah sends his way, he adds, "I didn't even want to be part of a pack, Leah, let alone their Chief. I have a hard enough time knowing that Sam can take away _my_ freewill at any given moment, so how anyone could think I'd want to do that to someone else . . . I'd be a terrible leader."

She disagrees, but says, "Fine. Okay, I believe you. What I _don't_ believe is that whatever this is, whatever had you so upset . . . If it's honestly not about leading everyone else, what is it that's so bad you can't tell me? Surely nothing's worth nearly becoming a murderer over."

"I could think of a few things," Jacob mutters darkly. "What else did Embry say?"

"He said the pack was in shambles. That Sam lost it with you over something or the other and you were only defending yourself, but you nearly —" Leah swallows uncomfortably. "You said it yourself. You had him — you could have done it, if you wanted to. And it's just . . . I have a really hard time believing either of you were ready to do that to each other, y'know?"

Somehow, Jacob knows there is more. "And . . . ?"

"And you gave an order," she says quietly, relenting underneath his warm gaze. There really is nothing else now. "That's why I thought you had taken over."

"I didn't —"

"I know," she reassures him quickly. "He told me you didn't know what you were doing. I don't think he blames you."

"Might be about just the only person who doesn't," Jacob mutters underneath his breath. "Except Quil, maybe. They're all pretty mad at me. God knows what Sam's going to do to me when I see him again."

Not for the first time that day, the fierce protectiveness which she is quickly starting to associate with Jake rises in her chest, seeping out of her so quickly that she struggles to remember herself. "He's not going to do anything to you."

Jacob has the gall to laugh at her. "You sound sure about that."

"As long as you don't call me _Little Engine_ again," she warns, ignoring him when another laugh rings out, "otherwise I'll string you up after I've finished with Sam."

She means it, too.

* * *

_(Jacob)_

Leah is flagging beside him by the time their feet hit reservation soil, stifling yawns when she thinks he is not paying attention — but Jacob doesn't miss a single one. He is on full alert. The pack hasn't come across the redhead since the damned bloodsucker caught wind of the tiny Cullen and high-tailed it over the Olympic Mountains, but even if he hadn't been secretly worried about Leah running into the leech on her way back (because Victoria will come back — he is sure of it), he knows he would have followed his imprint regardless.

He'd follow her anywhere. He follows her all the way through the Rez, right to the door of his house where the Rabbit is parked up in front of it. He'd offered to walk her home, first, but even through her exhaustion she'd refused to be dissuaded, almost as if she didn't quite trust that he wouldn't disappear again afterwards.

As if he'd go anywhere now.

He pushes the unlocked door open and ushers her inside ahead of him, ignoring her eyerolls and another yawn which follows soon afterwards. And he almost stumbles when her scent hits him as soon as he walks into his living room and flicks on the light.

It doesn't matter that he's been wrapped up in her since she found him — this is different; there are traces of her all over the room, over every single part of it she has touched. He can tell almost instantly that she has washed down every inch of the kitchen, that she has done enough loads of laundry to last several weeks.

Jacob thinks about her scent all over his clothes and almost stumbles again. Did she go into his bedroom? His bathroom? Slight panic courses through him at the thought. A girl hasn't been in his bathroom for nearly two years, and _never_ in his bedroom. But he can't pretend that the thought doesn't have his wolf practically purring inside of him.

"What?" she asks.

"It's . . . clean," he states, entirely aware of how so very stupid he sounds. It's as if his brain has come to a complete standstill. "You cleaned."

He doesn't have to look at her to know she's rolling her eyes at him again. "It was a pig sty, Jacob," she replies in that haughty tone of hers. "I know your dad is a bit too proud for his own good, but you've _really_ gotta start asking for help if you need it."

His eyes flicker down the hallway, towards his dad's room from where he can hear the old man breathing deeply. "We don't need help."

"Like I said. Proud."

"We don't —" he starts to say again, but she cuts him off.

"It's not charity, Jake, alright? We're family. I didn't call it charity when you fixed my front door or when you offered your car up."

"That's different," he mumbles. He is supposed to care for her; he has been _made_ for her, and she for him. She is an imprint. Sure, he might not be able to bring himself to tell her as much, but it's not exactly a role which he wants her to take up — not in the way Emily has shaped her own imprint by becoming a caregiver. Leah shouldn't have to feel like she needs to look after anyone, least of all him.

He hates himself for breaking down on her like that, back at their old camping spot. He shouldn't have done that. He came close. Too close to —

"Oh, for . . ." Leah tilts her head up to the ceiling. And Jacob, transfixed by the lines of her throat, the colour of her skin, can do nothing but watch as she swallows her aggravation and then says, "I'd shout at you, but I don't want to wake Billy."

"Go for it. He'd sleep through a storm."

"Don't tempt me," she mutters. And then she sighs. "Go and have a shower. You've got half the forest on you still."

"What are you going to do?"

She looks around the cramped living room, her lips puckering slightly and brows pulling together in thought. Jacob follows her line of sight and notices the mess on the coffee table, the trail of destruction his dad has undoubtedly left since she last cleaned.

"Don't," he warns.

"I didn't say anything," she says, her huge, tired brown eyes blinking up at him innocently under the fluorescents.

"If you're going to stay — and you can, if you want, but you don't have to look after me. Just sit down, okay? Help yourself to whatever you want."

Maybe it's because it's just been him and Billy since Rebecca refuses to come home from Hawaii and Rachel escaped to college. Maybe he _is_ a little too defensive when it comes to receiving help. Or maybe it's because of some deep-rooted, ingrained need within the wolf to make sure his imprint is the one who is safe, happy, healthy and whole. He can't say. Either way, it's impossible to fight. Leah has far too much on her shoulders without the added weight of his problems, too.

"Please?" he adds more gently when she looks mutinous. "It'd make me feel better to know you're not running around after everyone else. I feel bad enough that you had to come and find me as it is."

"Drag you back, you mean," she says. There's a quiet but amused smile playing at the edge of her lips and enough deference in her voice that Jacob knows she's not mad, and he finds himself smiling back.

"Sit down," he insists again. "I won't be long."

He's ten minutes. Not that he's counting.

Ten minutes — that's all it takes before he's walking back into the living room dressed in clean sweats, his hair already drying, only to find that the coffee table has been tidied and Leah is half-asleep on the couch.

He's not all that surprised. She's walked miles today. For him.

He sets down the clothes he's brought in for her and crouches down in front of the couch, crossing his arms over her knees, and he feels his heart swell a little as she looks back at him through half-lidded eyes. Five nights of his cowering in the forest are completely erased with just that look.

"Hey," he says gently. "You want me to take you home now?"

"My feet hurt. Come sit."

"I can drive you —"

She yawns, lazily patting the space beside her. "Just sit with me for sec. S'not that late."

It is, he wants to tell her. It's nearly one o'clock in the morning, but the words fly right out of his head after he sits down on the cushions and she presses her cheek against his bare shoulder.

Fuck. He is in _so_ much trouble. Even now everybody knows . . .

Tell her.

Don't tell her.

Leah nestles in closer and he can think no more. "For what it's worth," she murmurs, "I think you'd be good at it. Being in charge."

"I'd hate it."

"Mm," she agrees wearily, turning on her side and tucking her arms in between them, her words barely legible now, "I know. S'why you'd be good."

"Don't worry about it, okay?" He sweeps her wayward hair from her forehead. "I'll clear things up with Sam in the morning."

"Sure, sure."

"You're silly when you're sleepy, huh?"

"Mm," she hums again, "but I'm still right."

By the time he's thought of something sensible to say, she's asleep.


	21. twenty

_nothing lasts forever / some things aren't meant to be / but you'll never find the answers until you set your old heart free_   
_The Oh Hellos, "Hello My Old Heart"_

* * *

**twenty** **.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

Leah wakes to darkness, hot and sweaty underneath a pile of blankets, still dressed in yesterday's clothes. It takes her a moment to remember where she is. A moment of staring at the huge NASCAR poster stuck to the opposite wall, at the faint shadows cast over it by the hallway light before she realises that she's in Jacob's bed.

Jacob's bed.

Huh.

She kicks off the stifling blankets and glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. It's early — too early, even by her own standards — but she's awake now, and knows she won't go back to sleep even if she lays here for another hour with the curtains closed. Sleep hasn't come so easily since . . . Well, she doesn't sleep easily these days, and rarely for long, but last night is the first that she remembers sleeping dreamlessly. And it is the first morning that she feels entirely relaxed. Comfortable, even, despite the slight ache in her muscles from walking so far and for so long yesterday.

The memory of the day starts coming back to her, slowly at first and then all at once: the clearing, the journey back, the temptation of sticking around for just that little bit longer . . . although she still has no idea how she wound up in the box bedroom at the back of the house. Jacob's bedroom. Jacob's bed.

Huh.

Where _is_ Jacob?

She half-expects to see him on the floor when she rolls over, but it's not until she finally gets up and pads quietly into the small living room, barefoot and braiding her hair as she goes, that she peeks over the back of the couch and finds him sprawled over it, his long legs dangling over the arm and his mouth slack. Sleeping. Snoring.

The couch is no bigger than a loveseat, really. He can't possibly be comfortable, squished up like that, and yet that drawn look upon his face which was there yesterday has almost disappeared. The worn lines, the unhappiness lingering there, the shadows — it's all gone. He looks younger in his sleep, she decides. Just like when he smiled . . . That is, if she ignores how his new body and his impossible height and his thick muscles don't quite match up with the rest of him. Who he really is at heart.

Seth looks like that, too.

Seth.

She has to get home. But something feels wrong about slipping out of the door before dawn without a goodbye.

Leah ties off the end of her braid, still feeling oddly moved to the core as she studies Jacob. He gave up his bed, _carried_ her to it; he piled all those blankets on top of her so that she wouldn't get cold; he even took her shoes off, for crying out loud.

She leans down to touch his shoulder. "Hey."

Jacob jerks awake, his eyes snapping open in panic and searching wildly around him for the threat. "Leah?" He blinks sleepily — and damn, she feels guilty as hell. "S'going on?"

"Nothing," she murmurs quietly, apologetic. "I'm just going home. I'll be back later, 'kay?" She hasn't forgotten her promise to offload all the casseroles in her fridge into Billy's.

Jacob relaxes almost instantly, his eyes fluttering shut again as he sinks back down into the couch and mumbles something which she thinks translates to _stay_ , but the words are garbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"It's barely even sun-up," she says gently. "Why don't you go sleep in your bed? Come on."

It's like coaxing a child, but eventually she manages to lead a sleepy Jacob down the hallway and into his own bed. He falls back to sleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, breathing deeply with the smallest of smiles on his face. His feet are hanging so far off the end of the bed that they almost touch the floor, but it doesn't seem to make him any less comfortable than he looked on the couch. He's out for the count.

Hopefully he stays like that for a while. He can't have gotten any decent sleep since Quil phased — and maybe not even before that. He has been so busy, so run ragged with looking after Seth and — and her, she thinks with a slight pang of disappointment. And with this other vampire, Victoria, the one who Embry told her about . . . It's no wonder Jake is able to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. He must be exhausted.

Leah spots her battered sneakers at the bottom of the bed and slips them on before tiptoeing out of his room and out of the house, Jacob already lightly snoring again behind her.

It feels like December outside — not the end of March — and she shivers in her sweater, clenching her fists together inside the thick sleeves. It's almost as if her body is protesting, urging her to go back inside where it is warm and safe and . . .

She shakes herself. No. Later. She'll come back later.

With exaggerated movements, Leah sets off down Billy's ramp and across the reservation. She tells herself that's it's only to keep herself warm rather than to force herself onwards, and she's only half-convinced herself by the time she makes it to the end of the dirt track that stretches from Quileute Street to Jacob's house and back.

And that's when she sees Sam.

Great. Just great.

Against the rising sun, Sam falters a step in what looks like a very purposeful strut, almost as if he is forcing himself onwards, too. Onwards to his execution. It's almost funny.

And it would be, if he didn't look just as surprised to see her as she is to see him. Perhaps he doesn't want anything to do with her anymore, either. She's not going to begrudge him if that's the case, but neither is she going to let him bother Jacob.

How he knows that Jake is back on the Rez, that he's home, she doesn't know, but suddenly Leah wishes that she'd swallowed her pride and had taken the Rabbit. (She has total faith that Jacob could very easily knock out a Sam-shaped dent from the hood. She doesn't even think he would blame her for it.)

For a split second, she considers running. Back to the house — back to Jacob, because she knows exactly where Sam is going and what he plans to do. But she has never backed down from a fight before, and she's not about to start now. Especially not because of Sam Uley.

"Leah —"

"He's sleeping," she tells him before he can say anything more. She can hear how harsh she sounds, but she can't bring herself to care. He deserves it, every single bit of hostility. "Leave him alone."

But Sam is so used to her anger by now that he barely flinches. Or maybe he is just that determined. "This can't wait."

"You've waited this long, I'm sure you can wait for him a few more hours. Until he's ready."

Sam's face hardens in the cold light. "So he thinks he's in charge now? Is that what he wants?"

"That's up to him," she says firmly. This — telling Sam, it's none of her goddamn business and neither does she want it to be. This is their mess. Not hers. "Either way, it's his right to choose, isn't it?"

Sam's nostrils flare as he inhales deeply. He looks her up and down, scrutinising her, eyes narrowed. "So you know now, then."

Leah crosses her arms over her chest, holding her ground. "That you got your ass kicked? Yeah," she scoffs, "I know all about that. Sounded like you deserved it, in all honesty." It's satisfying when Sam's cheeks go a little redder than the new sun, and she smiles, feeling spiteful. "How did it feel to be bested by a sophomore?"

(Granted, Jacob doesn't _look_ like a sophomore . . . but who's counting?)

When Sam doesn't answer, Leah's smirk only deepens. "That bad, huh."

Sam exhales, a long and purposeful breath through his nose, truly aggravated. Good. "I wanted to sort this with him first before I spoke to you about it."

"Me? There's nothing to say."

"You've heard his side — you haven't heard mine."

"And I don't want to," she says as Sam frowns. "It's too early for your shit, Sam. If you really want to speak with Jake then you can come back later, not when he's sleeping. Or better yet, wait for him to come to you."

Either way — she's not leaving until Sam does. There is no way in hell that he's getting past her to wake Jacob up from the first decent sleep he's going to get before the world comes crashing down on him all because of what _Sam_ has done and what _Sam_ wants.

"We haven't got that much time anymore, Leah," Sam says, sounding rather uppish about it. "Now that Bella's back, that redhead is going to come looking for her again. We need to be ready for it whether Jacob thinks he's Alpha now or not."

 _Not_ , she wants to say, but it's nice to know that she can make Sam suffer a little bit more if she wants to. "How did you know he was back?"

"Jared was on patrol last night. He saw you two. And now — I feel it, that Jacob's close."

"You _feel_ it?"

"Alphas can feel their pack," Sam explains in the way he might be talking to a child. Slow and deliberate, as if having to do so is extremely annoying to him. He looks directly at her, his eyes wide but fierce. "He might have thrown my leadership into question — maybe the pack's having trouble . . . _obeying_ at the moment, but I guess there's some things he can't fully take away from me until he decides to."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said," Sam grunts. He jerks his head, looking pointedly over her shoulder. "Are you going to let me past or what?"

"No."

He shakes his head, almost like he's disappointed. "I see you're still as stubborn as ever."

"Damn right." Leah firms her chin and tightens her arms over her chest. "And I'm not leaving until you do."

Sam raises an eyebrow, considering her, and for a moment Leah thinks that he might try to slip past her — and she knows she has absolutely no hope in hell of trying to catch him, if he does — but then he shakes his head again with a roll of his eyes. "Fine."

She waits, resisting temptation to shoo him away with her hands, until Sam drops his arms and sighs, rolling his shoulders. "Come on, then."

"If you think I'm going anywhere with you . . ." A noise of disgust rises in her throat, and she doesn't bother clamping down on it.

"You're not going to let me talk to Jacob, so you can at least let me explain to you my side of things. Come on," he says again, "I'll walk you home."

"I don't think so."

"Why? You're not going back to Jacob's, are you?" he asks, eyes flickering back over her shoulder and towards the Black's as if he can see all the way down the winding dirt track. "I'm surprised he let you come out here on your own."

"What do you care?" What is it with these boys thinking she needs to be given _permission?_ "I'm fine as I am, thanks. I can take care of myself."

And just to prove it, Leah starts marching home.

She hears Sam hesitate, his feet dragging against the gravel, the sharp intake of breath, but then his footsteps pick up. Following hers, matching them stride for stride. She's undecided whether to be annoyed about it or thankful that he didn't decide to take advantage of the opening and head towards the Black's instead.

The silence is . . . not weird, exactly, because she doesn't have anything she wants to say. At least, not to him. But she can sense how awkward he feels about it, and knows that whilst _she_ doesn't have anything to say to _him_ , there are clearly things _he_ wants to say to _her_.

Leah almost tells him to spit it out, whatever it is, but that would involve initiating a conversation she has no interest in. So she keeps walking, keeping her eyes fixed on the path ahead and willing her legs to be quicker, her strides longer.

The last time she'd seen Sam, he had followed her then, too. He'd stood in her bedroom, just as uncomfortable and awkward — because she had purposefully made it so, undressing out of her funeral garb as they had argued. She had taken her frustration out on him, hating herself for showing such weakness to him earlier that morning.

She won't be doing that again. She knows the truth, now.

Not that she's allowed herself to think about it. Imprinting. Leah has always believed that Sam was taken from her — that he let himself be taken — but the real truth of it is just that much worse. She'd only just gotten used to the lie! She had only just let him go! She had been too tired to keep clinging onto a love which didn't exist anymore because Sam — he was never coming back; he was never going to choose her instead. Except now — now, it was so . . . so _final_.

 _Would_ he have come back if it hadn't been for that — what had she called it again? That _mystical higher power._

She'll never know. And she's not sure she wants to. It's far too late for that sort of thinking. It has been nearly two years. _Two years_. She has moved on. She doesn't love Samuel Uley anymore — not like _that_. Maybe the memory of him . . .

"You seem . . . angry," he says eventually, breaking the dreaded silence.

A grunt. "Can't possibly think why."

"I didn't mean to hurt Jacob," he begins to tell her, as if that is the explanation she is looking for. How little Sam knows her these days. "It just . . . Things are worse as a wolf, sometimes. Everything is heightened. Amplified."

She doesn't look up at him, walking beside her so easily. Doesn't want to. She can't walk home quickly enough, can't wait to slam the door in his stupid face. "Sounded like you meant it to me."

"And I didn't mean to hurt you," he continues as if she's not said anything.

"Not that you've cared about that before."

Sam sighs. "I do care, Leah."

"You're funny."

The growl of annoyance rumbling in his chest is not entirely human.

"No, really, you are," she ploughs on regardless, feeling as ridiculously calm as she sounds. She really does not care anymore; the door is well and truly closed. "You think you hurt me? You didn't do a thing to me that you've not done already. I _was_ hurt, yes, but I got better. It took me a long time, but I'm over it now."

"You would say that, especially now, but once things calm down you'll realise that imprinting doesn't erase history, Leah, and you —"

"I'm _over it,_ " she says again. "I don't love you anymore."

It's the first time she's said the words out loud, and it has taken her a long, long time to be able to say them, but she knows it to be true — something she's slowly come to realise over these last few weeks and knows with absolute certainty now. The honesty makes her feel lighter than air. Free of a weight she hadn't been aware she'd been carrying, so used to dragging herself and the rest of the world down with her . . .

"Well I do!" Sam explodes, and they both freeze — even as shock crosses his face after the words leave him, echoing out into the world around them.

For a moment he looks so visibly crushed, so disappointed with himself, that Leah wonders how long it has been that he's been holding this in.

He closes his eyes and exhales loudly, running a hand raggedly through his too-short hair. Tearing at it. "Just because . . . Imprinting on Emily, that doesn't mean that I didn't love you. That I don't _still_ love you, Lee."

And Leah . . . She can't — _no._

 _Caring_ is one thing. _Loving_. . .

No.

She stumbles as she puts distance between them, turning, her world spinning, readying herself to run. She has to get out of here. Everything feels _wrong_ —

Sam's hand clamps down on her arm and pulls her back with enough force that she almost falls. "Leah, wait, _please_ , hear me out."

"Get _off,_ " she snarls, wildly wrenching herself free of his grip which feels so . . . _off_. He's not the person she wants touching her. But Sam holds on to her with ease, his strength nearly as immeasurable as Jacob's. "No! You can't do this to me, not now! I've said goodbye to you —"

"I'm not asking for . . . for _that_ ," he says, struggling to get the words out, but she knows what he means. He's not asking for her back or for them to be together again. "But you understand now, don't you?"

No. She doesn't understand. She breathes in and out, once, twice. Begging for the calm she'd been in possession of only moments ago. She breathes again. "Let go of me, Sam."

"No! Not until you tell me that you understand! Me and Emily, you and Jacob —"

"Me and Jacob?" Leah barks a hard laugh, and it hurts her throat. "There isn't a _me and Jacob_ , not like there's a you and Emily. We're completely different."

"The circumstances are different, yes, but, Lee-Lee, it's _exactly_ the same —"

"Don't call me that. Don't . . . Don't compare us. I'm nothing like you. _You_ left _me_ , Sam! You don't get to be pissed that I've moved on!"

And if it wasn't for how so very miserable Sam looks when he next speaks, how defeated he sounds, Leah would have continued struggling out of his hold. "I didn't want to leave," he says. "It wasn't something planned, you know that now, don't you? I didn't go behind your back —"

She starts fighting again, and, this time, Sam lets her go. "You still left! She could have said _no_ , but she didn't! And you — you chose to stay with her!"

"There was no choice!" he argues. "You know it's something that can't be fought!"

"You didn't try!"

"I didn't know how! And even if I had done, I would have failed! How can you still not understand, even now?"

She wants to scream. "I thought I did, but now you're telling me . . . You need help, you know that? You can't love both of us."

"I can. I do, because there's two of me — the man and the wolf. I have to be with Emily — the other part of me, it _has_ to be with Emily, I wouldn't have it any other way. I _can't_ have it any other way, but if the man — he would have chosen differently." He swears violently. "It's so hard to explain."

"Why now? You've had two years, Sam. _Two years._ So why do you have this sudden need to start excusing yourself now?"

"After what happened with Jacob . . . When he told me — when I found out that he'd imprinted on you, I saw red. I was so jealous —"

She freezes. "What did you say?"

His words come out in a terrible rush. "I was _so_ jealous, Leah. It's no excuse, I know it. And I knew nothing would change because it's impossible, I can't leave Emily, not ever. I'd die if I tried. But I . . . I love you, too, and I just — I saw red," he says again lamely, unable to offer her anything else.

"No. You said —" The world has tilted on its opposite axis and then righted itself all at once, throwing her off balance. "You said . . . Jacob. You said that he imprinted on me."

Sam looks like he's about to fall over. "He didn't tell you." Silence. Heavy silence. And then, "I just thought . . . You were coming from his house, and you smell like . . . Your scent is all tangled up with his like — like you spent the night . . ." His throat bobs. "Oh, God," he gasps out. "You really didn't know."

Suddenly everything Sam has been saying makes sense.

_You understand now, don't you?_

_Me and Emily, you and Jacob . . ._

_You know it's something that can't be fought._

But clearly Jacob has been fighting it. All this time . . . He imprinted on her, and he hasn't told her. He knew. _He knew_.

_He knew._

And Sam . . . _They all know._ But she didn't. Embry, Quil . . . Seth . . .

Leah can hardly recall what it is to breathe. "When?"

"Last week, when you —"

"No," she says suddenly. She doesn't want to know, doesn't want Sam to be the one to tell her these things. "Don't."

Sam nods once. It might be the first time that she's seen him look so guilty. He didn't even look guilty when he told her he didn't want her anymore. He was nothing except stone-faced, oddly detached, distracted . . .

"I can't listen to this."

"I'm sorry," he says, his deep voice low, remorseful. "I thought —"

"Just — don't." She doesn't care if it sounds like she's begging, if she's choking on her words. "Don't."

She flees.

For once, Sam doesn't follow her.


	22. twenty-one

_the tension is here, between who you are and who you could be / between how it is and how it should be_   
_Switchfoot, "Dare You to Move"_

* * *

**twenty-one** **.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

She runs home, because she has nowhere else to go.

By some miracle the door is unlocked, and she throws herself through it, her heart pounding and her hands shaking as she bolts the chain. It won't stop any werewolves barging through it, breaking their way in, if they want to — but it's the act of locking them out, locking herself _in_ that allows for a second of control. Clarity.

Just a second.

_He knew he knew he knew —_

Leah's head spins as she leans it against the cool, polished hardwood. It pounds as she hears her mother's voice travel down the hallway from the kitchen, where Leah suspects Sue has likely spent all night over a pan trying to perfect Harry's recipe. The house stinks.

"Lee, is that you?"

Fuck, she hates that name.

But she says, "Yeah," and winces when her own voice falls flat against the door. It's not her mom's fault.

It's another five seconds before Leah can bring herself to straighten up and school her face into something less . . . hurt. Because that's what she is — hurt by the person she'd started letting all those barriers down for.

(There was a time, once, when the thought of being with anyone other than Sam had been inconceivable. Of giving that much of herself, sharing that much with someone else. But that's exactly what she had started to do with Jacob.

Perhaps _hurt_ is too small of a word to describe what she feels.)

"Where have you been?" her mom calls, and by the time Sue appears in the hallway Leah has managed to turn away from the door and square her shoulders. Mercifully, her eyes are clear. Her head is not.

But her mom is making an effort. So she will, too.

Sue doesn't look mad, which is a bonus, even as she frowns and wrings the dish towel in her hands. Just concerned, maybe a little bit interested. Still depressed and withdrawn, nervous even, although admittedly her face has a little more colour in it than it has had recently. "Did you go to a party?"

"No. I was out late with Jacob and crashed at his place." Truth — if only because Leah can't think to lie, even if her honesty has her mom's eyebrows shooting all the way up into her hairline.

Leah ignores it and kicks off her shoes, watching rather detachedly as one tumbles over the other by the foot of the stairs. It's testament to how worried her mother is that she doesn't reprimand her for such carelessness, such untidiness.

"Have you been up long? Where's Seth?"

"He's not here."

"When did you last see him?"

Sue shrugs, turning back around to clear the way as Leah starts making her way down the hall to investigate the carnage which is undoubtedly in the kitchen. And sure enough, it looks as if bags and bags of flour and cornmeal have exploded all over the countertops.

Leah raises an eyebrow. "Need help?"

Her mom suddenly looks mildly embarrassed. There might be some life in her, sure, but she's still a shadow of the fierce woman she had been two weeks ago. "I — I wanted to have a batch ready for when Charlie comes, but I didn't . . ." She frowns at herself, disappointed. "I couldn't remember whether I needed to use dried thyme or dried oregano."

"You need to use both," Leah says, and her mom sags a little bit with that same disappointment — or maybe it's relief in finally knowing the answer. "Charlie's coming over?"

"I called him. Late, last night. He didn't know the answer either."

It's the air of embarrassment still in her mom's tone that has Leah asking, "How late?"

". . . He was asleep," Sue admits, ducking her eyes and pretending to busy herself in one of the disaster areas by the sink. "He'll be here soon. He's going to drive us to Billy's. I, um . . . I think I need to apologise."

Leah blinks at her mom's back. _Apologise?_ "What the hell for?"

"Language," she scolds — but only half-heartedly, and it's followed by a quiet sigh. "I need to apologise to you, too. And Seth. But to you the most, I think."

"There's nothing to apologise for, Mom."

"No, there is," Sue begins to protest, but Leah doesn't want to know what follows.

"Please, don't."

She takes another look around the wreck that is their kitchen, wondering if through all this Sue has gotten the recipe right. She's not all too sure she wants to be one to determine that, though. Isn't sure she will be able to stand eating fish fry ever again. The smells clinging to the room are bad enough.

"How long did you say Charlie was going to be?"

"Soon. An hour, maybe. It's Sunday," Sue says as if it's some sort of explanation, shrugging again.

"Okay." Leah rolls up the sleeves of her sweater. Harry's sweater. Anything to stop her mom from apologising. Anything to stop herself from thinking about . . . _that._ About anything. "There's oregano in the pantry. Middle shelf."

Sue takes the hint.

* * *

Thirty minutes after her mom and Charlie drive away in his police cruiser, the doorbell rings.

Although Leah has been expecting it, she has to put a hand against the tiled wall of the shower to steady herself underneath the near-scalding water.

She's still frozen with fear by the time the third echoing ring of the bell dies off, the sound impatient and demanding.

Of course he knows she's here. He can hear the shower. Maybe even her panicked breathing. Thank fuck she had the sense to bolt the door again after her mom left. Then Leah remembers the back door, the gate at the side of the house leading into the yard, and she feels like she might puke. When was the last time she locked those? She can't remember.

Shit.

Does he know? Does he know what she's been told?

Unless . . . it's not Jacob at the door. Maybe it's Sam, here to trample over the last pieces of her failing heart. Or maybe it's Seth. Hell, she'd even take Embry and Quil invading her space at the minute. Anyone but Jacob.

It's only the thought she may have locked her poor brother out that Leah manages to strengthen her legs, her spine, and move her hand from the wall to wash the last of the shampoo from her hair, cursing herself for being such a coward all the while.

Three minutes later, she has hurriedly dressed and is standing at the top of the stairs with her long hair dripping water onto the carpet. Coward she may be, but she's no fool. She's not going to answer that damn door until she knows who's on the other side of it.

Maybe they've gone. Maybe he's gone.

Except, Leah has never, ever been that lucky.

There's a slow, tentative but firm knock at the door which feels like it reverberates off the walls. "Leah?"

After two, stuttering heartbeats, she seriously weighs up letting him in. She shifts her weight upon the top stair in deliberation. Then Jacob knocks again, a little more forcefully this time. "I can hear you in there, Leah. C'mon, let me in."

He doesn't sound like she thought he might. Not worried, or even upset. Just confused. He obviously didn't — _doesn't_ expect to be kept out like this. Not by her. His imprint.

_Imprint._

Her heart jolts again.

As quietly as she can, she descends the stairs and creeps past the door. She pokes her head into the kitchen — quickly — to peer out of the window and check the back is secure, too —

— but the gate to the yard isn't locked, and Jacob is faster.

In that moment, Leah absolutely, utterly, completely, thoroughly _despises_ herself for being so frightened. Of Jacob, of Sam. Of _this_ — this mess. She has never hidden away like it in her life, but . . . honestly, is it really too much to ask the world for a bit of time and space? All she wants is more than a few fucking measly hours to think and sort her head out. _Before_ she receives this next slap in the face.

But she's never been that lucky, remember?

Jacob hurtles into the kitchen.

The outside gate is still swinging, bouncing noisily off the brick wall from how quickly he has blown his way through. And — damn herself to hell, her knees buckle. It's all she can do to keep herself from running. Or falling, right where she stands. Running seems like a good option. The easy option.

Jacob pauses long enough to scan her face, concern displayed upon his own. Leah wants to know if it's real, his concern, or if it's something forced. But then he's closing the space between them in two easy strides, and his hands come down on her shoulders as he bends to look at her more closely.

She avoids his eyes because she can't bear to fall victim to them again.

"What's wrong?" he demands. "Why didn't you answer the door?"

"I locked it." She can hardly hear herself, but Jacob does.

"Why? What's wrong?" he asks again.

Leah feels the words dangling there — feels herself dangling as if she's standing on the edge of the cliffs on First Beach and about to dive. She was so angry when Sam told her . . . Had Jacob found her then, she knows she would have screamed at him. Would have demanded answers from him. But now? She's not sure she wants the answers. She needs more time.

She'll probably still scream at him, though. She can feel it building, the longer he looks at her and acts like . . . like he cares.

"Leah, honey, you're scaring me. Please say something." Jake's voice is just a pitch away from begging as he tucks a finger underneath her chin with a type of gentleness which has her wanting to cry — if only it were _real!_ "Talk to me. What's happened?"

Despite knowing there's nothing but jagged rocks waiting for her at the bottom, Leah takes the plunge and looks him in the eye. "How long?"

"How long what?" he asks, but — there. A flash of panic. Then he blinks and it disappears, and she wonders if she imagined it.

"How long," she repeats slowly, deathly quiet, "have you known that I'm your —" She almost chokes on the word, unable to say it. Imprint _. Mate._ She swallows harshly. "How long?"

Jacob pulls himself up, hands falling gracelessly from her shoulders. "Who told . . . ?" His face darkens. "Sam. It was Sam, wasn't it?"

How he's figured it out, she doesn't know. Doesn't care. "How long?"

"Leah . . ."

"How long, Jacob!"

He flinches, but he doesn't look away. "Since Harry's funeral," he says, voice soft and controlled. "After the burial. When you — when you came home, and I saw you walk through the door. When you looked at me."

She remembers. He didn't smile back at her but had followed her into this very room only minutes afterward. And she had demanded answers from him then, too. "When were you going to tell me?"

"Leah —"

_"When were you going to tell me?"_

"I don't know. I wanted to. I should have, but I couldn't do it. You've been dealing with so much, trying to look after everyone: your mom, Seth, Quil. _Me."_ He doesn't break his gaze, not once, not even as his guilt takes hold and the words start pouring out of him. "And when I told you about Sam and Emily, you said — you said it was disgusting. It made you _sick,_ Leah, physically _sick_ , and I couldn't . . . I couldn't blame you. I hate myself for what I've done to you," he pleads desperately. "I never wanted to imprint before this, but —"

"Who else knows? Apart from your pack of _mutts_. Who else?"

"Billy. Old Quil. I think Dad might have known for a few days, actually, or he at least suspected that I had . . . Well, you know. But he found out for sure the day Quil phased, same as everyone else. Emily and Kim know too, I suppose. They would have been told."

Billy knew. He _knows._ And Seth . . . she'd figured he knew, too, but hearing it is so much worse. Yet still, with ice-cold calm, she says, "Quil phased nearly a week ago."

"They couldn't tell you. The order that I gave that day — I told them not to tell you. I wanted to be the one —"

Not good enough. "Orders don't apply to your father."

"No, they don't," Jacob says all too-agreeably. It's infuriating. "But he respects them. The traditions . . . they mean something to him, Leah. To the Council. They consider it the worst kind of dishonour to —"

" _I don't care_ ," she spits, unable to contain herself any longer. Finally she has hit those rocks at the bottom of the cliff — and she does not think she will ever resurface. "I deserved to know! And you were going to carry on keeping it a secret from me! You gagged everyone you could and —"

"It wasn't like that —"

"— and you _weren't going to tell me!_ Why! Because you didn't want me, or because you thought you knew best? You just went on ahead and decided what was right for me and what _you_ thought I could or couldn't deal with!"

"I didn't —"

"You did!" she screams. "You don't get to make those kind of choices for me, not when it affects my whole fucking life!"

"But it doesn't have to affect your whole life," he begs, "not if you don't want it to. You can do whatever you want, you can tell me to be whatever you want and I'll do it. Please, Leah."

His words from that second day, that god-awful day in the kitchen resurface. _The wolf will be anything, do anything she wants. It's not exactly tested, but . . . who can resist that level of commitment? Nobody's been told to just be a friend before,_ he'd said to her.

_Who can resist that level of commitment._

_Nobody's been told to just be a friend before._

"Tell me what you want," Jacob continues to beg, "and it's done. I swear it. Please."

One word from her and this could all go away. Friend. Brother. Enemy? Lover. Stranger.

No. It's abhorrent — all of it. She won't. She won't do it. She does not choose this. She will _never_ make that choice.

"I'm not Emily, Jacob." What about _his_ choice? "I won't do to Bella what she did to me —"

Jacob pulls back. It's almost startling to realise how close they'd been, to no longer feel his breath washing over her as he says, " _Bella?_ This has nothing to do with her."

"It does. You — you love her, don't you? Just because she's with what's-his-face, that doesn't mean that she doesn't feel like you do. You two, you could be together. Properly. Like you wanted."

"That won't ever happen." He says it as if the very idea disgusts him. "Never. I don't love her."

"But it _could_ have happened, Jake, that's my point! Sam said . . ." His awful confession springs to mind, and Leah has to chase that part of it away, chase those words away. "He said . . . feelings like that — _love_ —" she corrects herself "— can't be erased by imprinting. I'm not Emily," she says again, "I won't be her."

" _Love?_ " Jacob repeats, staggered — but confused, too, by her poor retelling of Sam's confession. "I told you, I don't love . . . Wait, what _feelings?_ What exactly did . . ." His eyes spark in horrible realisation. "He didn't."

Leah doesn't answer. And whether he sees the answer in her eyes, her face, or even in just the moment of silence, it is all the affirmation Jacob needs.

His chest heaves as he takes slow, deliberate breaths, though they are shaky, and he squeezes his eyes shut in what looks like painful concentration. That's when she notices the tremors slowly starting to take over his body, and she knows what it is he is struggling to fight.

She doesn't move, can't move, paralysed in spite of her own rage. She waits. And waits. And then, ". . . Jake?"

His eyes snap open at her voice. Nothing but unending, icy rage. Pure focus and determination. Sudden unwavering resolve. " _I'll kill him_."

It's an effort not to flinch at the snarl which rips itself from his lips, at the utter rage in those three words before it. But she manages to steel herself — somehow. "You can't."

He growls again. "I nearly did it once. I'll do it right — this time."

"No, I won't let you! You're not a murderer, Jake, you'll go to prison!"

"If they catch me."

" _No!_ " Leah lurches forward, hands reaching out to grab any part of him they can, and she clings to him, feeling the vibrations from his body underneath her palms, her fingers. "This is not your problem!"

"Hell it isn't," Jacob seethes. "You're _mine._ "

"No, I'm not! I'm no-one's! Not yours, not Sam's!" Fuck, she wants to shake him. And she would have, if she knew he'd feel it. "I'm not some . . . some _possession_ you can lay claim to just because you've imprinted on me!"

Jacob is unfazed. "Do you love him?"

The question throws her off, and she jerks back enough to be able to meet his stare. "What kind of stupid, dumbass question is that?"

"Do you?"

She doesn't blink. "No."

Neither does Jacob. "But he loves you. Still."

Leah pushes away from him completely, disgusted enough that she's heard those words from Sam's lips let alone that she's having to listen to Jacob repeat them. That same feeling of _wrongness_ crawls over her, working its way up her spine. "Surely you knew that. Being inside each other's head."

"Loving you as opposed to being _in_ love with you — that's different."

"Is it?" She scoffs. "Because I don't think he is. I think he panicked. Just like you are."

Jacob scowls deeply. "I'm not _panicking_ —"

"Bullshit," she snaps. "You are. You're throwing the same goddamn hissy fit that he did just because you both think you've got some claim on me. Because you're jealous. Or, at least, this . . . _thing_ is making you that way. Well here's a new flash for you, Jacob." She jabs a pointed finger at him. " _I don't belong to you._ You obviously don't even _want_ me to, otherwise you would have told me the truth!"

"I told you why —"

"Yeah, I know. You wanted to, but you couldn't because you thought me weak."

And there's the truth of it. Underneath it all, maybe she is. Maybe he's right, even if he refuses to admit it. Maybe . . . maybe all these emotions she's been sensing from him, which now she understands has been real all along and not a figment of her imagination . . . Maybe he feels what she feels, too. He can sense that weakness in her.

"I didn't —

"You're a fucking liar."

Jacob throws his arms up. "Will you let me finish! I didn't tell you because I think you're weak, I didn't tell you because I knew you'd react like this! I knew you'd hate me! And I can't believe that after all this, after how much time we've spent together . . . You actually think that I love Bella, don't you?"

It's hypothetical, she knows, but she nods, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table.

"Well I don't. Believe me. I thought I did, maybe, but I was wrong. It's not the same as . . . It's not the same."

"The same as what?"

"Sam," he says simply, his irritation flaring again as he looks across to her. Who will win, if they fight again? "If I loved Bella like I thought I did, then I'm pretty sure I'd be fighting this. I know myself, Leah. I know what I want. Who I want."

"Do you even _have_ a choice? You might have decided for me already, Jake, but I won't — I _refuse_ to do that to you! To anyone! Don't you see how wrong it is?"

"Yes." A beat of silence. Then a moan as he drags his hands through his hair, yanking hard. "No. Oh, I don't know! A part of me says it is, but the rest of me . . . I didn't want to imprint, _ever_ , but now that I have it's impossible for me to see it that way. I don't want to think like that, and I'm pretty sure the imprint wouldn't let me even if I wanted to. The _only_ reason I don't like it is because what's it done to you. Look at how much pain it's caused you! Of course I don't want that."

"Because that's what I want, right? You want what I want."

"Yes," he moans again, coming closer. "Please, Leah, I'll do anything. I want — no, I _need_ you to decide. You have to tell me what to do otherwise I'll go crazy. I can't live like this anymore, not now that you know. I thought I could stay away from you but then you found me at our camping spot and I knew, I knew I couldn't. I felt better the moment you sat down beside me —"

She remembers. Remembers the words he had spoken into her skin, the apologies he had made. The pain he had been in. "You said it hurt you. You meant the . . . the _imprint._ "

Jacob nods miserably, tears finally escaping and rolling down his cheeks as he lowers himself down in front of her. "Staying away, not knowing if you were . . ." He leans on her knees and scrubs at his face with another hand. "It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I was desperate to see you, but I knew if I gave in then I'd end up looking for you and telling you everything. But then _you_ found _me_. I bottled it."

"You should have. You should have told me."

He shakes his head. "You would have left, and I — I needed . . ." He doesn't have to finish; she knows what he is trying to say. _You would have left, and I needed you_. Because he had been hurting that badly in trying to keep away from her. "I was weak. I _am_ weak."

A protest bubbles in her throat, and she is reminded once more of the too-intense feelings of protectiveness, of possessiveness she feels, of how her mind and body has continually jumped to his defence in recent days — _weeks_ , even; didn't she snap at Sam the day of Harry's funeral, that very first day — the day Jacob had imprinted?

Leah swallows the words burning to get out and defend Jacob. Her mate. Imprint.

Her mind whirs on for minutes, thinking and feeling too much, much too quickly. It's too much for anyone to be able to comprehend. Too much. Too much.

How much of what she feels, what she _has_ felt . . . How much of that is real?

"Please say something," Jacob whispers, his voice hoarse, thick with his tears.

It's silent for another minute. And then, with all the courage she has, Leah looks down at his miserable face and says, "I don't want to tell you what to do. Who to be." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, praying that her own voice remains steady. "And if I can't do that . . . How bad will that be for you? I don't want to be the reason you're in pain, Jacob. You said you _need_ me to decide. But I'm not sure that I can. Not even if I was going to lie about what I want."

It's enormous, this weight that's hanging over her. The pressure. The power. If what he says is true . . . If Jacob is going to be hurt, will that mean she will be, too? If she turns him away?

"I don't know," he replies honestly, sniffing loudly. "It's better now you know. It was killing me. Literally. Fighting it . . . I don't think that's something I can do. I tried."

"And if I want you to?"

"If it makes you happy and it keeps you safe," he says without hesitation, gripping her knees, "I'll try again. I'll keep trying."

"And you? What do you want?"

"It doesn't matter what I want. That's the point of the imprint."

"Of course it matters," she snaps. "What do you want?"

He doesn't answer for a long, long minute.

"I don't want to fight it," he whispers finally, staring back up at her with such burning intensity that she knows _exactly_ what Jacob wants. _Who_ he wants.

He wants _her_.

As broken and as mean and tired and unhappy as she is, as opposite as they are in so many ways, this kid . . . _Jake,_ he wants her. And Leah knows if she gives in, if she gives Jacob what he wants . . . It would be so, so easy. So easy between them.

"Why?" she asks. _Why do you want me?_ "Is it because you're being forced by the imprint?"

Jacob sighs and stands to his full height, but he's only absent long enough to pull on the chair beside her. He sits so closely that her skin burns. "Maybe," he says. "Or maybe it's just shown me what could have always been there. These last couple weeks with you, all we've done together . . . I'm pretty sure I'd want you even if all the supernatural stuff didn't exist."

"If all the supernatural stuff didn't exist," she says, looking down at her bare feet, "then I'd still be with Sam. And you . . ."

She can't finish that sentence, can't say that girl's name again.

"Maybe. Maybe not." He doesn't sound troubled by the possibility — even as long dead as that possibility is. "If the bloodsuckers hadn't come back, then yeah, I guess. But they have, and this is what we've got. I'm not sorry about it." He turns hesitant. "Are you?"

Leah watches as Jake takes her hands in his and twines their fingers together. She keeps her grip loose, but she doesn't stop him or pull away. "I don't know. I don't know what to feel."

"That I am sorry about."

She concentrates on her breathing for a long while, staring at their hands and letting the sound envelope the kitchen as she tries desperately not to cry. It could be so easy . . .

"I don't love Sam," she says eventually. Clearly. "He knows that. But if you want me to say I love _you . . ._ I can't do that."

She can hear the frown in his voice, and she feels his disappointment as he drops his head against the top of her still-wet hair. Not because she can't say it — _I love you_ — but because she knows he doesn't want her to think that way. "You don't have to ever say that. _Especially_ not if it's something you believe I want to hear."

Jacob says it with such conviction that she knows it to be true, and when she nods, the only response she can give, she feels the tears finally beginning to well.

She closes her eyes, inherently grateful that he can't see her face. "He was looking for you. Earlier. Said he wanted to sort things out."

"Yeah." Jacob sighs, lifting his head from hers. "I was getting ready to go, but then Charlie arrived with your mom and she looked at me a bit . . . Well, she looked at me _weird_ , in all honesty. Did you tell her?"

Bravo, Sue.

"No. Just that we were out late, and . . ."

"And?"

Leah surprises herself by huffing a laugh. She feels the tiniest of smiles appear on her face. "And I stayed the night. She probably thinks . . ." Oh, God. "People are going to think _that,_ aren't they?"

She finally lifts her head and closes her eyes again when Jacob pulls one of his hands away to wipe the stray tears from her cheeks with the pads of his calloused fingers. "Probably. Lucky for you," he says teasingly, "the age of consent in Washington is sixteen."

Her eyes fly open in alarm, and, when she swears at him with enough violence that she half expects her dad to appear and shout at her something stupid, Jacob simply tips his head back and roars with laughter at the ceiling.


	23. twenty-two

_the first step is the one you believe in / the second one might be profound  
_ _Shinedown, "I'll Follow You"_

* * *

**twenty-two.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

Though Jacob's laughter at his own joke eventually dies, his grin at the appalled look on her face remains. Leah shies away from it, her cheeks reddening (sixteen, a small voice says -- _sixteen)_ , and attempts instead to focus on the hand which is still entwined with his.

The warmth he gives off has her remembering what he said yesterday: _Nothing feels warm to me anymore. Just the pack and --_ _and you, now._ It must have affected her, too, she thinks, because Jacob doesn't really feel like the open flame he says he should be. Not to her. (109 degrees, he'd said. He should be dead, honestly, running that kind of fever.) She supposes she'll have to add it to her list of things that she's just going to have to get used to. He's made it pretty clear that this is something which can't be fought, not unless she wants him to be in excruciating pain. But if this is messing with _her_ temperature . . . then she can't help but think, what else has affected her?

Has she changed without realising it? Has it changed her?

It's too impossible to consider with Jacob being so close, distracting her and clouding her head. Is that the imprint, too?

She sighs. "So what happens now?"

"I don't know," he says, his breath skittering over her skin, and she doesn't have to sneak a glance to know that his eternally sunny grin has suddenly faded. She might actually be getting the hang on tracking his switch mood changes. "I'd say it's your call, but . . . honestly, I don't know. Pretty sure this hasn't been done before."

 _That's why I was asking_ , she wants to say. _What are we doing, exactly? What are we going to do?_ But instead what comes out of her mouth is a lie, and she wonders if Jacob can tell. "I mean, what happens with you and Sam? What are you going to do?"

"Oh. Kill him, I suppose," he replies evenly.

She gives in and peeks up at Jake to find him smirking, though there's a touch of malice lingering there too. And she nods, as if it is the most acceptable thing in the world, in spite of trying to stop him from doing exactly that less than half an hour ago. Except . . .

"You'd have to be in charge if you kill him," she reminds him in the lightest tone she can manage.

"Nah. I'll give the pack to Paul. He's been dying to give me an order, especially since I kind of took Second from him."

"Second?"

Jacob's fingers tighten around hers a fraction almost apprehensively. Sore subject, she thinks. "Second-in-command. Sam's the Alpha, I'm his Second, and Jared's his Third. It's just bloodline stuff," he tacks on defensively, dismissively, "--like I said yesterday. Stupid traditions."

"You don't like being Second?" she asks quietly, though she already knows the answer.

"Hell, no. I didn't want to take it. And after I'd refused to step up, I don't think Sam was too much of a fan of the idea either, really. But it was either that or kill each other." His lips twist again as their eyes meet. "Always comes down to that, doesn't it?"

"So . . . you're like his Beta?"

This time she receives a genuine smile. Something twists in her stomach at the sight. "Yeah," he says, "exactly. Seth said that, too. Trust me, though, I'd be the lowest ranking if I had the chance. S'just one of those things. Catch twenty-two."

The mention of her younger brother has Leah frowning as she thinks about the last time she saw him, and when it will be until she sees him next. She hasn't forgotten the supplies he took to Jake whilst he was holed up at the old camping spot. Hasn't forgotten exactly what she is going to tell him the next time she sees him -- and Sam. The kid is going to finish school even if it kills her. Even if she doesn't understand a thing about the pack. Even if Embry's words hold true and that other vampire -- Victoria -- reappears.

Leah's heart quickens at the thought, and she has to untangle her finger's from Jacob and pull away from his warmth when she thinks about what had nearly happened between Edward and Embry and Quil on the Swan's front lawn. That had been bad, and hardly anything had even happened. She knows Victoria will be worse; she must have heard the name half a dozen times yesterday, must have seen half a dozen looks of concern.

Embry seemed confident that they could take on one vampire. They've done it before, apparently. But even Leah could see that something didn't sit right with him and Quil about this one in particular.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah," she replies a bit too quickly. Jacob doesn't miss a thing. "Just . . . Thinking. About Seth."

It's not a lie, technically, so whatever the sixth sense is that she seems to share with Jake doesn't alert him. Leah pushes out from her chair and starts running her hand through her long hair, pulling the wet tangles out as she stares out of the back window.

Silence falls over the kitchen, but it doesn't feel awkward -- not really. A little tense, perhaps, with all that's been left unsaid about the choice she needs to make but refuses to. About what might or might not be expected of her now. But she knows Jacob won't push her on it.

Other people will. She has no doubt about that. He's made it clear how much stock Billy and the rest of the Council put into traditions and honour and--

Well, fuck them. That's about as much as she can decide right now. Except for the decision she already made as soon as Jacob had mentioned it.

"How did you get here?" she asks eventually, still staring out of the window.

"Drove the Rabbit back over. I was going to do it later, after Sam, but then your mom arrived and -- well, you know." Jacob clears his throat awkwardly and then there's the distinct sound of keys dropping onto the kitchen table. "S'yours, if you want to use it. I meant what I said."

Leah pulls in a deep breath, straightening her back decisively as she turns back to him. "Good. I didn't really want to walk." In spite of the restful sleep she had last night, the first in what feels like forever, she is tired already. Drained. So much has happened, is happening. Her poor father never stood a chance, did he?

Jacob looks confused, so she summons all of her lingering courage and adds, "I'm coming with you. To see Sam."

* * *

_(Jacob)_

The world tilts just a fraction, and he has to remember that wood -- in his hands, at least -- is easily breakable. The chair underneath him won't survive, and neither will the table. But there's nothing else to hold onto.

Jacob swallows thickly, has to make an effort to breathe in and out again. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

He's not sure whether Leah realises that he wasn't exactly joking when he said that he was going to kill Sam. Not the first time he said it, blind with rage, and neither was he the second time. Sam had _no right_ in telling her about the imprint, and certainly not that he still fucking _loves_ her. That he's _in_ love with her. Still.

Jacob thinks he's a dang idiot for not realising it sooner, but, clearly, his Alpha has been hiding a lot of secrets. From his pack and his own imprint.

"No," Leah says, squaring her shoulders anyway. "But I can't let you have another fight, not with him. He's not worth it."

Jacob considers her carefully. Tests the waters. "He'll be at Emily's."

Something vicious flares to life within Leah's eyes, her façade faltering a fraction, but the hard shield she keeps in place between her and the rest of the world returns almost immediately. "So?"

He shrugs, feigning indifference. "Just saying."

She stands impossibly straighter. Decision made. "I'm coming with you."

"Okay."

"You're fine with it? Just like that?" she asks, dubious.

Jacob shrugs again. "We've already agreed that I can't stop you from doing anything." Though he wishes he could -- just this one time. He doesn't want Leah within a thousand feet of Sam. Doesn't want Sam within a thousand feet of her. "This could get uglier than it did with Quil, though, Leah. I don't really want you in the middle of it. Not this time."

She doesn't answer. She just stares at him, resolute and battle-ready, daring him to try and stop her. To tell her what she can and can't do.

He is the first to look away, defeated, though he doesn't feel a sense of triumph from her about it. Doesn't feel a sense that she's particularly confident about her own decision, either, especially when she leans against the kitchen counter. He watches her in the corner of his eye; it takes a second for her to drop her shoulders, another second to release the breath she's been holding, and he realises that she had been expecting him to argue with her.

Oh, he wants to. But he's almost, almost messed this up once already. She hasn't accepted him, not yet -- not him, not the imprint. And it grinds, because the wolf demands an answer, demands to put a title on the nature of the imprint, but at least it doesn't grind as much as it did when he was trying to fight it. He can live with this.

At least, he hopes that can.

Leah begins braiding her still-wet hair with shaking hands, growling underneath her breath as she misses a strand and has to start all over. Carding her slender fingers through her hair again, she seems hellbent on ignoring the tremor she's suddenly developed. Jacob wisely chooses not to mention it.

"Here," he says gently when her hands drop for a second time and she lets out the tiniest sound of frustration. It's kind of cute. She's cute. Even as she looks at him, frowning, and he stands to gesture at her hair. "Come here."

One day, he'll thank Rach and Beck for teaching him how to do their fancy braids, even if their sole aim had only been to torture him. They'd wanted to open a hair salon, at one point. Another one of their schemes to get out of La Push as quickly as possible, but at least one that they had roped him into.

Leah inches towards him, still several parts dubious and defensive and distressed all at the same time, and she raises a dark eyebrow at him when he holds out his hand for the hairband on her wrist. It's testament to how she's feeling that she actually surrenders and hands it over without comment, wordlessly turning her back to him so that he can begin.

He can smell her shampoo, her soap. Oh, God. He's going to be dreaming about running his hands through her hair all week now, isn't he? It'd been bad enough waking up with her scent all over his pillow, wondering whether he'd just had the most fantastic dream or if she was actually there with him, in his bed.

Jacob does his best to work quickly -- all the while trying to remember that it's okay to breathe, that he's not going to die just from being able to touch her like this -- and soon enough he is tying off the end of her braid half-way down her back with a snap.

Her breathing has evened out and her hands have stopped shaking by the time she reaches up to feel her way over her head from where the braid starts. It's not bad, even if he says so himself. He's definitely going to have to thank his sisters . . . one day.

"Huh," says Leah. "That's . . . I didn't actually believe you'd be able to do that."

"Don't tell anyone," he intones seriously, knowing that it won't be staying a secret once the pack hears about it anyway. He'll be lucky if he manages to keep it out of his thoughts, let alone his dreams. "I have a reputation to uphold."

Leah snorts. He tries not to take offence.

"Ready?"

"Nope." Her lips pop, and she avoids his eyes as she swipes the keys off the table. "Let's go."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Jacob turns the Rabbit onto the beaten path that leads to Emily's place. They've spent the last nine minutes negotiating.

He tries asking her to stay in the car; she refuses, and asks him to promise that he won't leave her alone with her traitor cousin.

She asks him to refrain from committing murder; he asks her whether she'd help him hide the body.

"I would," she replies with absolute certainty, "but then we'd have to kill Emily, too. No witnesses."

"Pack mind," he reminds her. "They'll all know."

"So we'll kill them too. Let the loyalists live. Seth, Quil. Maybe Embry," she says, giving him a slight sense of déjà vu. They were like this on the way to Quil's, quipping back and forth with an ease he's not felt with anyone before.

He smiles. "And when the Council asks what's happened to half of the pack?"

"Vampires."

"There'll be a war."

"'Two birds, one stone' springs to mind. Would mean that you could take care of your little Cullen problem, anyway. I'll help."

"Yeah?" he asks, laughing, and Leah nods resolutely. So determined, his imprint. "How are you going to manage that?"

"Flamethrowers. Carefully placed bonfires. Exploding gas tanks. They burn, right?"

"Right," he agrees slowly, pulling on the handbrake, although the picture she provides for his imagination is brilliant. "You're a bit scary, do you know that?"

Jacob laughs again when she seems pleased with the comment, her smile sweet. "I know," she says, and is the first to get out of the car.

Her braid swishes proudly behind her for a few steps, until she realises that she's inadvertently leading the way to face Sam and Emily and she surreptitiously falters a few steps so that she's next to him instead. Jacob makes sure to walk slowly, quietly hoping that she's going to change her mind the closer they get to the door and goes back to wait in the car.

She doesn't. But she does reach for his arm when Sam appears on the porch. To stop herself, or to stop him? Maybe both, Jake thinks. He certainly doesn't trust himself.

Sam looks . . . haggard. Guilty, even, and a small part of Jacob would be pleased about this if it were not for the fact that he knows Sam will surely use this against Leah -- just like he tried to manipulate her by telling her secrets he should have taken with him to his damn grave. Jacob can hardly wait to see a replay of the conversation for himself just so he can know what the hell Sam had been thinking. He wonders if Emily knows.

Leah's grip on his arm tightens when Sam takes another long stride towards them. It's all Jacob need to look at his Alpha and say, "That's far enough."

It's not an order, nothing even close to a challenge, but Sam apparently has sense enough to listen. His eyes harden, and all traces of worry and guilt leave his expression. "I'm not going to hurt her, Jacob."

He might as well have said, _I'm not going to take her away from you, Jacob._ That's what he's really thinking. It's written all over his face.

"It's you I'm protecting here," Jacob replies. Just like he understands now that Leah is protecting him whether she's quite aware of it or not; he can feel how she hates being here already, but still she has come to stand with him. "Let's just get this over and done with. What do I need to do?"

He doesn't really adhere to traditions like Sam does, so he doesn't know. He thinks he might be able to stretch to a handshake. Maybe. That's being generous. He doesn't know what he'll do if he has to do something stupid like phase and lower his whole body in submission just to prove a point.

Sam takes a breath, hesitating. He glances at Leah, but seems to think better of letting his eyes linger and refocuses. "What do you want to do, Jacob?"

 _Be done with this already._ "The pack's yours," he says. _Everything's yours. Just allow me this one thing._ "What do I need to do to prove that?"

Sam doesn't answer immediately. He looks as closely as he dares, at Jacob, at the hand holding onto his arm, the dainty fingernails digging ever so slightly into his skin. But he doesn't look directly at Leah again, if only because he must understand that he'll get his head ripped off if he does.

"You told her, then?" he asks eventually.

"No thanks to you," Jacob replies darkly, blood beginning to pound.

"You should have told her from the very beginning. Maybe then this wouldn't have become a problem, would it? She deserves better than that, Jacob."

 _Better than you,_ is what he hears.

" _She_ is standing right here, thank you," Leah snaps. She leans forward, almost preparing to pounce, but the hold she has on Jacob keeps her in place. Yeah, she's definitely holding herself back. "Why do you keep saying his name like that? _Ja-cob,_ like you're his teacher or something? I can't stand it."

Sam remains calm. Or tries to. "Leah--"

"Shut up. Just stop." Jacob feels her fingers curl around his bicep, digging deeper. "He wouldn't even have to be here if you hadn't tried to kill him. This is _your_ mess."

"For God's sake, I didn't try to kill him. I told you I didn't mean to hurt him. Jacob knows that."

Jacob scoffs, and he smirks when he hears the same sound come from Leah at exactly the same time.

"But you did," Leah argues vehemently. "So make your apology, yeah? And then we'll be on our way." She puts her free hand on her hip, expectant, and Jacob thinks he might have loved her for that alone without the help of an imprint.

Sam stares at her, outraged. "Only this morning you were protesting that there wasn't a ' _you and Jacob_ ', and now you've already accepted the imprint?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "Come _on_. You're seriously defending him for what he did?"

"No," she spits back, and it is Jacob's turn to put his arm around her shoulders; the fingers gripping his arm are not enough to stop her, but she doesn't shake him off. She wants to be stopped as much as he does. "I'm defending him for defending himself. Against _you_. I haven't accepted anything -- not that it's any of your goddamn business, actually. I thought I'd made that clear."

"Of course it's my _goddamn_ business, Lee. He's pack. Second-in-command, actually, did he tell you that? Everything he does has a knock-on effect on everybody else and it becomes my fucking problem, all the time. First it's all about refusing to step-up, making them all confused, then he's got them pining after Bella, and now it's you, of _all_ the people--"

" _That's enough."_ The double-timbre of the Alpha voice slips out of Jacob before he realises what he's doing, though he wouldn't have stopped himself even if he'd known.

Sam flinches, and his mouth snaps shut.

Leah is shaking again underneath his arm. Rage, this time. He can feel it bleeding out of her, and it almost sends him over the edge. But he can't, won't phase.

"The pack's yours," he tells Sam again. He's been wanting to do this for weeks. Months, even. As soon as he phased for the very first time and it ruined his life. "I'll be quitting as soon as I can manage it. You won't have to worry about me anymore. Happy? I'm done. I'm out. We're not doing this anymore."

"Jake," Leah pleads. "Don't--"

"Consider this my resignation," he continues over her, to Sam. "And a warning, too."

He doesn't need to tell Sam what exactly that warning is. He thinks even Leah understands the words unspoken.

"Fine," Sam spits, barely in control of himself. " _Fine._ "

It doesn't feel fine; everything is telling Jacob to _take take take --_ the wolf is begging to take charge, to make his opponent submit, but he's been through this before. And he would kill Sam this time, he's sure of it. He wouldn't be able to stop himself. It's a fight he would win.

Sam looks close to being the first to lose it. But Jacob, with Leah underneath his arm, grounding him, has never been more in control.

Sam growls. "Get the hell off my land."

It sounds like an Alpha-Order, but it rolls right off Jacob's shoulders and falls flat.

Ever the obedient wolf, Jacob immediately starts steering Leah back to the Rabbit. Thankfully, she falls into step easily enough.

Hopefully they can get out of here before Sam has chance to realise that his only leverage to keep his wolves in check doesn't work on his Second anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I am so very sorry to all those who have been waiting (thank you, thank you for your lovely reviews). I hate a bit of a sob story, but you deserve an explanation: As some of you might know I am a frontline worker, and I ended up catching the 'rona (or maybe she caught up with me. Either way, she got me good and I was out of action for a long while). I am still on leave, recovering, trying to shift my foggy brain, but I hope this makes up for the absence. Big love to you all.
> 
> Secondly, another disclaimer (because I've previously said this fic would follow canon events): I love the timeline provided on Twilight Lexicon because it is the bee's knees for detail, but we're twenty chapters deep into this fic and so far everything has taken place in March 2006. Bella and Jacob don't see each other again 'til late May (ignoring the scene where he returns her motorbike), and that's just… so boring, especially for pacing issues. So I've thrown caution to the wind and decided that everything is just going to be brought forward a tad. Massive apologies about this if you are a stickler for detail like I am.


	24. twenty-three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you tons for all of your well wishes. Here is another chapter, a bit dialogue-heavy and earlier than planned, because Blackwater is its own medicine.

_i would wait for a thousand years / i would sit right here by the lake, my dear / you just let me know that you're coming home, and i'll wait for you  
Lord Huron, "In the Wind"_

* * *

**twenty-three.**

* * *

_(Jacob)_

It's several minutes before Leah is able to get her breathing under control. Jacob thinks that if he didn't know any better, if Quileute girls were able to phase, he'd be sure that she's battling with herself to remain on two legs right now. She's that angry.

She puts her head in her hands, eyes squeezed shut, and her wolf-like rage practically seeps out of her even as she pulls in a ragged breath. "Jake," she begins, undoubtedly marking her first attempt to talk him out of making such a rash decision. "You can't let him _\--_ "

"Not yet," he murmurs, so quietly that his lips barely move. He knows that whatever they say will be heard. Sam is kind of predictable like that, especially when it comes to battles of control, of ownership; the bastard has no goddamn boundaries. It's best to wait until they're out of earshot.

Leah nods into her hands. And to her credit, she doesn't so much as even yelp when he stomps down on the gas; she simply sits herself up and all-too calmly reaches for her seatbelt, an understanding reached. The only sound of protest heard at all is the squeal the Rabbit's tyres makes as it races back towards the main road.

Jacob doesn't bother looking in his rear-view mirror. He knows what he'll see: Sam, staring after them, as furious as he is likely jealous.

It's only when he's absolutely sure he can't hear any heartbeats except hers and his own that he lifts his foot from the gas slightly and drops down a gear. The engine is purring like an absolute _dream_ underneath his fingers. He loves running, loves the speed, loves having both Embry and Quil back at his side again, but leaving the pack will be an easy choice if it means he gets to drive the Rabbit for the rest of his life. Nothing compares. It's the greatest car in the world (of course).

He glances at Leah in the corner of his eye. She has her forehead pressed to the window, eyes staring unseeingly as the Rez rushes by, but she is aware enough to notice that the car is slowing.

"Now?" she asks.

"Be my guest. But you're not going to talk me out of it."

"You don't even know what I'm going to say," she challenges.

"I have a pretty good idea," he says. And then, "I've been thinking about this a long time, Leah, pretty much since this whole thing started. The decision's been made already."

Her voice turns unnaturally soft, her lingering rage dissipating before his eyes save for her reddened cheeks. "When you imprinted, you mean?"

His heart soars in elation at the word she has so far been unable to say without scorn or stuttering. But just as easily it starts to sink with dread, because he fears that she hates it still and will never forgive him for keeping it from her. For pushing this choice on her.

He keeps his eyes on the road, steering wheel held tight within his palms. "Yes, and no."

Leah sits up in her seat and waits for an explanation, and he tries his best to not stumble over the words. "Yes, because I didn't want anyone to find out; I would have sooner stopped phasing than let everyone know before you did, and I was pretty sure that you wouldn't want to know anyway. It was the easiest option I could think of. But it takes a lot of willpower to quit. Far more than I currently have. And -- well, without trying to blow my own horn, I have a hell of a lot more of it than the rest of the guys do."

She comprehends this. "So it's impossible, is what you're saying."

"Not impossible," he says slowly. "Just . . . doubtful, I guess. I definitely won't be able to manage it as quickly as I want to. I guess that little notice period I gave Sam is going to be the longest any boss has ever had. Still, it won't be a surprise or anything. He's had it coming for a long time now."

Leah leans her elbow against the door and drops her head back down on her open palm, staring at him in that same contemplative manner. "Why do you have more control than the rest of them? Is it about bloodlines again?"

"Yeah. Most probably. Or maybe I'm that brilliant," he says, forcing a grin.

It's worth it when she huffs a laugh, her lips pulling up. "You're so full of yourself."

His grin blooms with genuine feeling, and she laughs again, shaking her head as she turns her gaze back to the open road. They're not far from her house now.

"What about the other part?" she asks then. "You said yes and no."

Jacob takes longer to answer that one. "No," he says eventually, "because I was always planning to quit anyway -- _before_ the imprint happened. I want to quit. I really do. But . . . it's like I said before, do you remember? Even if the Cullens leave, there are always going to be bloodsuckers, and that means there are always going to be wolves. That's going to make it even harder, knowing that."

"There haven't been since Ephraim was alive. Not until you," she reminds him.

"It might stop for a while, it always does, but as long as future generations have the gene . . ." He shrugs and turns the Rabbit into her road. "It'll never truly _end,_ will it?"

"If it never stops," she asks, her tone plain but patient, "then what's the point? Why give it up?"

"Some of us have gotta get a life at some point or another, honey. I wanna be the first."

She hums, noncommittal, and leans back in her seat as he pulls the parking brake outside of her house. She doesn't seem to be in a hurry to go anywhere just yet, and neither is he. He turns off the engine.

They're silent for long enough that he is content enough to tip his head back against the headrest and simply watch her and the emotions playing out on her face. She's deep in thought about something, and he wonders what it is. Wonders what she wants him -- them -- to do.

After a while she breathes deep, and she offers it without prompting. Maybe him staring is enough.

"If you're really quitting because of me," she tells him, her words sounding deliberate but wary, "and you're trying to spare my feelings again, then you shouldn't. I don't want you to do that."

"I'm not, not really. Honest. This has just kind of sped the whole thing up a little, is all."

She nods. "Okay. But you shouldn't feel like you have to do things because of me, is what I mean."

He _does_ feel like that, but he doesn't say it out loud in fear it will upset her. Everything he does, will ever do, is for her. It's literally why he exists, whether she likes it or not, and he's so tired of fighting it. Tired of pulling himself back and stopping himself from saying and doing what comes so effortlessly now.

Jacob picks his next words with more thought than he ever has. "I can't be in Sam's pack anymore. We were already struggling against each other before this. The hierarchy thing, that's been the only defence he's had to put me back in my place." _And now it doesn't work. His orders don't work._ "Honestly, the only thing that can happen now is that I either do this -- I start learning to stop phasing and we start being _really_ careful when we're around each other 'til then -- or I accept Alpha."

Her words from last night echo ( _'For what it's worth, I think you'd be good at it. Being in charge.'_ ) and he silently wonders whether she still thinks the same after all she has seen of him today. Probably not. He doesn't blame her.

"I hate that things have got worse for you because of me, though," she admits. "I'm the reason. And don't lie," she adds quickly. "You know it's true."

"Maybe," he says carefully, slowly, because it's hard to tell her the truth when it will cause more harm more than satisfaction, "but I don't necessarily see it as a bad thing."

"That's because your judgement skills are all screwed up."

He can't help it. He laughs.

"What? They are. You're not exactly yourself, are you? Stop laughing!"

"S'nothing. You sound like Embry moaning about Jared, that's all."

"Well, maybe that's not a bad thing," she sniffs haughtily. "Someone has to talk sense 'round here."

"Embry? Talking sense? He'll love that. I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about him."

Leah flushes brilliantly. "Okay, so that was a bad comparison," she mumbles, dropping her eyes. He's still chuckling, and he knows how much she hates feeling like she's being laughed at but he can't stop. "Shut up. You know what I meant. I just think that you're not exactly seeing all that straight, are you."

He rolls his eyes. "My judgement is perfectly fine, thank you."

"Really," she drawls, deadpan.

"Yep. I know what I'm doing." _Sort of._ And because she still looks doubtful, he shakes off his amusement and reaches over to drape his arm across the top of the passenger seat. She doesn't shy away from him, though, not like he expected she might, and he turns hopeful. Surely she must see how _good_ they'd be together. How effortless it would be. "It's going to be fine, okay? Don't worry."

She seems unconvinced, but nods anyway. "Will it be easier for you to manage, if you stop phasing? The imprint? Is that part of why you're doing it?"

"I didn't think about that." His arm gravitates closer towards her shoulders unthinkingly, just as the rest of his body does, like she's the moon and is commanding his tide. "Is that what you really thought?"

Leah nods again, and suddenly her questioning him makes so much more sense now, all that adamance of hers to not be responsible for his decisions.

"I don't know," he says honestly, voice coming out quiet. "Is that -- is that something you want to happen? If it worked like that?"

She doesn't answer. But then he didn't expect her to, not when the question is so close to prompting a decision she's still so hesitant to make.

It feels like an age for him, since he imprinted. She's had less than twenty-four hours.

His nose is dangerously close to pushing against her cheek by the time he feels the mood change. He can practically taste it.

Leah sits herself up, back straight, her focus back, and Jacob pulls away. Moment lost.

Is this it?

She fiddles with the end of the braid, radiating nervousness. Still, it takes her another ten beats to speak.

"I need some time," she says quietly, and Jacob has to tamp down the rising panic he feels at her words, has to remember to be reasonable, remember that she hasn't accepted this -- and won't, not easily, not unless he gives her the space to do so. It's not as if her two encounters with Sam Uley in one day has exactly helped any, either. How is he going to be any more helpful? How _has_ he been any more helpful?

He clears his throat, head heavy with her scent after being so close. "Yeah, I understand."

She looks over at him. He can feel the struggling emotion on his face, and he knows that she can see it, too.

"Don't give me those puppy eyes, Jacob Black. I didn't -- I'm not saying _no_ , okay? I'm saying that I only found out about this today, and I want -- I _need_ to get some space. This is too much for me. I have to take a few steps back and _think_ , y'know? Think, and sleep, and spend some real time at home. My head's so messed up that I can't even remember the last time I saw Seth. Can you let me do that?"

"You don't need to ask."

"Trust me, I do. It's just . . . Would you believe me if I told you how wrong this feels wrong for me, too?" she asks then, and he's struck by how close she's hit to the mark of his thoughts. She laughs. "Oh, come on, it's written all over your face. I know that's what you're thinking. I can feel it. I can feel everything, and it's driving me mad. But do you understand now? I need to think about how all of _that_ makes me feel. Does that make sense?"

Yes. No. Kind of. Not really. "Sure, honey," he tells her almost automatically. "Take all the time you need."

She reaches out and puts her hand on top of his. The warm contact settles him almost instantly, and he almost feels like he'll be able to let her go. This is the Leah he has grown-up with; she has always done things her own way and in her own time, has always been this headstrong. How can he not give her what she wants? He has to. He always will. It's exactly what he's been made for, regardless of whether he personally thinks that putting some distance between them is going to suck to high hell and back.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, as pained as he is.

"Don't be. Really. You're not the one who should be apologising."

Her sigh is equally as miserable. "I can't help it. I have a freaky radar telling me things now. About you. Guess this thing goes two ways, huh?"

Maybe it's miserable because he feels miserable, too. And it physically hurts to say his next words, but they have to be said. A choice. She will always have a choice. "It doesn't have to."

"I don't know about that, Jake, I don't. Because right now I'm pretty sure that if I told you to take a running leap I'd just spend the rest of my life kicking myself for it because it'd seem so wrong. And I need to figure out whether that's the _me_ part which feels like that or the _other_ part. The imprint part." She shrugs. "Maybe they're one in the same now, I don't know. But I need to figure it out, and I realised today that I can't do that when you're looking at me like I've hung the moon or something. I can't think clearly. And I'm so mad at Sam that I could scream, I could just . . ." She trails off with a moan of frustration, patting his hand a few times. "It's not fair on you, dealing with that."

He tries to smile as he threads his fingers through hers, keeping her here for just that little bit longer. "I can take it."

"Yeah, well, you shouldn't have to. You shouldn't have to do anything. You shouldn't feel like you're competing with him, or something, like how I feel like I would have to compete with Bella if I just accept this for what it is."

"But you don't--"

"I know," Leah cuts in quickly. She lifts their entwined hands up and rests her forehead against them, eyes shut tight. "I know. I think . . . I think that's the me part, feeling like that. The other part I'm not sure of. Yet."

"I meant what I said," he says. He has to stop himself from dropping a kiss to the top of her head. "Bella's not -- you know. I don't feel that way about her."

"Yeah, I believe you." Leah sighs as she pulls herself up a fraction, frowning as she talks their hands, twisting them this way and that as she considers them. He has a feeling she doesn't want to, can't look him in the eyes, especially when she says next, "Maybe it's just because I don't like the girl acting like she's got some claim on you. Maybe I just don't like her, period. Who knows. Let me think about that one and I'll get back to you."

He doesn't answer, and after a few minutes of silence she squeezes his fingers one last time before untangling them from hers. She reaches for the door handle and looks at him over her shoulder. She's going. He wants to stop her.

"I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Sure, sure." _Please_ , he thinks up towards whoever might be listening, _don't let it be the last time,_ and he pulls his keys out from the engine before pressing them into her free hand. "Take these."

She smiles, and he feels a little pathetic, but he has to ask. "You'll come find me?"

"Yeah, Jake. I'll find you," she says, that same smile and a small laugh in her voice, and then she's gone, up the path, fishing for her own keys out of her jacket. She doesn't turn back.

Jacob waits until she's through her door and then forces himself to get out of the Rabbit and walk away. He's pretty sure that he'd sit there waiting until he rots, otherwise.


	25. twenty-four

_we're the let-down, we're the lied-to, where the lost go and it finds you / where the lonely make the lonely feel less lonely  
Gnash, "The Broken Hearts Club"_

* * *

**twenty-four.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

There's a wolf at her door.

She knows this, because only a wolf who has the means to defend himself would dare to press a Clearwater's doorbell over and over whilst simultaneously yowling her name through the letterbox. A very annoying wolf. One with a death wish, even, who stands in the middle of highways waiting for oncoming cars so he can earn nothing more than ten bucks.

"Lee-aaaaah," he calls. "I know you're in there, loser, I just saw your mom on her way to the Atearas' place. C'mon, or I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll--"

She flings the door open. "What?"

"--blow your house down," Embry finishes, straightening up with a grin. "Hey, beautiful. Is he here?"

He jerks his thumb over his shoulder at the Rabbit which is parked at the end of the drive. It hasn't moved since yesterday -- the day she decided to make her life impossibly harder, all because of a little integrity. She's gotten absolutely nowhere with this ' _I need to figure it out_ ' spiel she gave Jake.

"You tell me, genius -- you're the one with superior senses."

"Nah, my hearing's not as good as Jared's," he says dismissively, craning his head through the doorway to peer up at the staircase. "Seth?"

"Sleeping." Leah rolls her eyes as she fruitlessly tries to push him back by his shoulder. Goddamn wolves have _no_ concept of personal space. Or how to wear a shirt. _"Peacefully,"_ she tacks on pointedly.

"Phew." Embry leans against the doorframe, cocksure, and mimics wiping sweat from his forehead. "Sam said we had to stay away from Jake 'til the bonfire. He didn't say anything about staying away from you, though -- so here I am! Ta-da." He stretches his arm out with a flourish. "Are you pleased to see me?"

Leah just groans in answer.

Embry chooses to ignore her. "Come on, _chiquita,_ get your coat. I'm taking you out."

" _Chiquita?_ "

"Don't like it? What about ' _chiquitita'_?" he asks, emphasising every syllable.

"That's even worse. And it's a song," she accuses, although she finds that she's all too-willing to indulge the kid. His appearance has brought on the first real smile she's managed all morning, and it's past lunch now. She's done nothing since yesterday afternoon except clean, clean, clean. It's a time-tested method. The kitchen is spotless; she's washed and organised all of Seth's clothes, now separated into piles for _normal living_ and _wolf living_ ; the bathroom is shining; all the bedsheets have been changed. And yet she is no closer to feeling as if she can provide Jacob -- or herself -- any closure.

" _Chiquitita, tell me what's wrong."_

"Your singing is as terrible as your Spanish accent."

Embry pokes his tongue out. "You're so cranky today. How many hours has it been since you saw Jake? Are you missing him?" he teases, crooning.

"No," she insists, knowing that she sounds a little too adamant about it. She attempts a scowl for effect.

Embry only barks a laugh. "Yeah, 'kay. Let's go, liar. Chop chop."

She doesn't have any reason not to grab her parka and follow him, so she does.

* * *

They walk the deserted Second Beach Trail, which is finally free of tourists and Forks high-schoolers now that Spring Break is over. It's not raining but it's still wet and muddy, exactly as Washington always feels, and she wishes that she'd slipped on her boots instead of her sneakers. She's wearing the same ones she trekked through the forest in to find Jacob, and they're beyond salvaging.

Embry offers his hand to help pull her up a steep, slippery incline, and afterwards she shoves her fingers deep into her pockets. She's not cold -- she probably could have forgone the jacket -- but holding onto Embry and feeling his blazing skin is a reminder she does not need.

"So where's Quil got to?" she asks. They have been talking about everything and nothing so far, sticking faithfully to neutral subjects -- mostly for her own benefit. "I thought you two were joined at the hip."

"Patrol," Embry answers, tone light, but she knows he noticed her haste to pull away from him. "I was getting bored without him, to be honest, especially now that Sam's grounded us from seeing Jake. It's bad enough that my mom grounds me as it is." He pauses. "But don't tell Quil I said that, or he'll never let me live it down."

Leah frowns at the ground, watching her steps. She hadn't been all that surprised when he'd first mentioned not being allowed to see Jacob, and it wasn't as if she'd needed to press for an explanation of Sam's reasoning, but she hadn't expected Embry to be finding himself in such trouble. He's so easy-going, so laidback. "Your mom?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, it's not as if I can tell her what I'm doing all hours of the day -- and night. She'd freak."

Leah's ashamed to realise that she hasn't considered it before. "She doesn't know."

"Nope, and she never will," Embry says, though he seems calm about this and even cracks a smile. "In the early days, after I first phased, she'd catch me climbing through my window butt-naked some mornings. Luckily we can carry our clothes with us now."

Leah tries to return his gesture, but it feels weak on her lips. "Poor Tiffany," she says, and he chuckles. "Maybe you should go home, Embry? If you have downtime, then maybe you should be--"

"Nah. She's kinda pissed with me all the time, anyway. It's not like we can have a nice conversation or anything when all she does is shout."

"But--"

"S'fine, honest. She doesn't get it, y'know?" He picks at passing shrubs, wild and overgrown, and starts pulling the leaves apart in his hands. "She's Makah," he says, almost like it should be an explanation.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything. Come on, you're Quileute, you grew up on this."

He speaks like there's a distinction between the two of them, and Leah does not like it. Her pace slows, and Embry struggles to match it with his long legs. "You're Quileute too."

"Half, anyway," he says quietly, his usual happy and carefree nature which she has come to know suddenly glaringly absent. "At least that's _something_ I know for sure, I guess."

"So your mother's Makah," Leah says, willing her words to be steady; she doesn't know what it is that he's trying to tell her -- she knows his father is absent and has always been so -- but she is still unnerved by it, by the way his face has settled into an awful mixture of agony and anger. Resentment? Loathing? She can't tell. "That shouldn't matter, Embry. She's lived in La Push for long enough. She might as well be one of us, anyway."

Leah doesn't know Tiffany Call very well, but the woman's as much part of the community as anybody else; she has lived here for seventeen years, has worked at the souvenir shop on First Beach for almost as long.

Embry doesn't answer. He throws down the leaves he has been tearing up and picks up the pace again, just enough that Leah has to skip a few strides to catch up with him, and he keeps his eyes trained upon the path.

"Embry, wait." Leah pulls her hands out of her pockets to hold onto his arm, if only so she doesn't lose him. "What's wrong? Has someone been saying something to you?"

He looks down at her arm and then away again before she can catch his eye. "They didn't have to."

"Who is it?" she demands. She's going to kick their ass. "Because I'm telling you now, it doesn't -- _Embry._ Hold up."

He takes a deep breath and finally relents, slowing, and the anger in his face fractures enough to allow an apology to bleed through as he looks down at her. "I didn't mean to bring it up like that, I'm sorry. I try not to think about it too much. Honestly, it really doesn't matter."

"It _does_ matter, because you haven't grated on any of my nerves for nearly five whole minutes now," she jokes, but he doesn't react at her attempt for humour. "Something is obviously wrong. Tell me. And then I'll sort it, I promise."

He smiles with a hint of sadness. "You can't sort this one, Rocky."

"Will you let me try?"

"You don't even know what it is." He drapes his arm over her shoulder and pulls her close. She thinks it might be more to comfort himself than anything else. "C'mon. We're nearly there now."

They break through the trees and start wandering down Second Beach together, the entire stretch of sand and stone entirely deserted save for them. It's the end of March, which means endless clouds and torrential rain, and clearly she and Embry are the only ones crazy enough to take a hike when there is a storm brewing. The sky is grey, dreary, and the waves are crashing against the cliffs as if they have a score of their own to settle. A storm is brewing.

Embry pulls away after nearly half a mile of contemplative silence and starts collecting up rocks, throwing them one-by-one into the raging water. "So, tell me. How mad are you at Jake?" he asks.

She wants to ease the tension out of his eyes, and so she accepts the question as the distraction he's looking for. His upset still troubles her, though, and she's not going to let it rest permanently.

"Not really," she says honestly, shrugging. "You think I should be?"

He looks vaguely surprised. "Everyone else is."

"Are you?"

"Sure I am. I mean, yeah, he's my friend," Embry says, "--my _best_ friend, but . . . Let's just say that I think it'll be another week or so yet before any of us can look at him without wanting to break his nose for not telling you the truth straight off the bat."

"Us?"

"Seth, mostly. Me, Quil. Even Paul."

Leah wrinkles her nose. Her brother hasn't displayed anything other than pure delight that Jacob is _'really part of the family now'_. And she can believe such things of Quil, especially after how freely he'd offered his friendship -- it had taken nothing more than her cleaning his sneakers up and a shared hatred of casserole -- but . . .

"Paul?" she asks a little disbelievingly.

"I know, right? I think he shouted at Jake more than Quil did, after the fight. He wasn't happy about being sworn into silence."

She is stunned and a little flattered, by Paul and Quil both. She patched up her fledgling friendship with Quil on their way to Forks a few days ago, but she still hasn't yet allowed herself to believe all was truly forgiven -- despite lack of apology on her part and his odd offer to walk a dog she doesn't own.

Paul, though, she doesn't understand. She remembers catching his eye at the funeral, the sympathy she'd found there. . .

"But why?"

Embry shrugs, smile a little lopsided and wrong on his face. He's still not happy. "Search me. Knowing Paul, it's probably because he wants to get in your pants." Leah pulls another face. "But he's also like, really, _really_ loyal, too," Embry continues a little begrudgingly, almost like he would be defending a brother he finds annoying but loves anyway. "There's nothing he won't do for the pack."

"But that's -- _why_?" she demands again. "I'm not one of you. Jacob -- he said I am, but how can I be? I can't . . . you know. Phase, or anything."

"Of course you are. You're my pack, _our_ pack, just as much as the others. Maybe more, even, because we actually like you. All of us do. Shit, sometimes I forget you _can't_ phase. S'not like you've not got the temper for it," he adds cheekily. He is obviously aware of the last two times she has seen Sam, probably almost as if he was there witnessing it himself thanks to their shared minds.

She shoves him, and is unsurprised when he doesn't move a muscle against her.

"Honest," he says, a grin blooming. "You'd shake things up a bit, if you could. I reckon Quil's old gramps would go nuts."

She speaks the truth she has been harbouring for days. Weeks. "I want to be, sometimes. One of you. I did when we were in Forks. Just so people would listen to me, y'know? That they'd look at me and see _me_ , not Sam's pathetic ex-girlfriend. And I wouldn't be left behind then, either."

Embry slings an arm over her shoulders once again. His fingers are caked in sand, but she doesn't protest -- she can only think that his weight feels wrong. He's not Jacob. He's the wrong temperature, the wrong shape, the wrong height.

That, she decides, is most definitely the imprint part of her rebelling. But she also knows that Embry doesn't mean to be anything other than reassuring, comforting -- it's no different than affection she might share with Seth. And wolves are all about touch; she knows this. It's how they communicate. And she's part of the pack now, apparently.

 _Sam's_ pack.

"You're not pathetic," Embry tells her as rain starts drizzling down upon them. "You're too frightening."

Leah scoffs, yanking her hood up. "I don't feel very frightening. Honestly, I just feel . . . _weird_ most of the time," she admits, staring down at her battered sneakers as she steps precariously over a scattering of embedded rocks. "Since Harry died."

"Since Jacob imprinted on you," Embry amends.

She nods. "How much of what I feel . . . Do you honestly think it's real?"

"I don't know. You're going to have to talk to him about that one."

She sighs.

That's what she's afraid of, that she can't figure this one out on her own without him -- especially when that's her whole reason to stay away.

She spills all to Embry as they wander towards the driftwood. A tree, bleached white and buried in sand. "I told him that I wanted space yesterday. And I don't know if it was the right thing to do," she admits quietly. "It's only going to end one way, anyway, isn't it? He swears it doesn't have to. I'm just unsure if I believe him."

Embry takes a seat on the tree and stretches his legs out. He doesn't seem bothered by the rain, welcoming it instead. "I don't know how it works, only how it's happened with the others," he says carefully, as aware as she is that they have struck dangerous territory.

"How did it happen with Jared?" she asks, saving them both a headache.

Embry relaxes. "Easily enough. Jared sat next to Kim at school every day for a year. She had this _huge_ crush on him." He smiles at that, almost like there's a joke to the story. "But he never really noticed her, I guess. Then he joined the pack, saw her again, and it was plain sailing from there. It only took him until the end of the day to tell her everything. She was over the moon."

Leah can't believe it. "And it was all fine? Just like that?"

"Yeah, pretty much. She didn't have as many questions as you do, if that's what you mean, and she didn't exactly tell Jared to take a hike or anything. They moved pretty quickly after that."

A brief silence lapses as Leah considers this. And then, "I don't think I'm going to like Kim very much," she finally says from underneath her hood, adopting her best haughty tone.

Embry's laugh is a boom, and it makes her smile. "No. I don't think so, either."

Leah recalls the day she found out about imprinting, and all that had ensued. The whole pack has probably seen all of that, too. There's not much that isn't a secret anymore. They'll all know how she reacted -- how she reacted to learning about Sam and Emily, and their betrayal.

The problem is, Leah is struggling to see it solely as betrayal anymore. Maybe it's because her throat doesn't seize up when she thinks about Sam these days. Maybe that's why she has put so much distance between her and Jacob, just to prove that it can be done -- that it _is_ betrayal, because an imprint _can_ be refused.

But does she want to refuse it? How can she, and then tell Jacob that she's only doing it as a massive _'fuck you'_ to her cousin and ex-boyfriend? Even she can't be that cruel. Not to Jacob.

Embry tips his head back against the driftwood, up to the spitting rain, and stares at the overcast sky.

It would be very, very easy, she thinks, to ask him to tell her about the other imprinted pair in the pack. And he would, she's sure of it. She knows the beginning to Sam and Emily's story, thanks to Jacob. And she knows how it ends.

Ask, don't ask. Ask. Don't ask.

She almost does, her lips parting to speak, except Embry cuts the silence first.

"I don't know who my father is."

When he doesn't say more, Leah looks up at him. He's still staring at the clouds, though the weight of the confession seems to have lifted from his shoulders -- it's almost like he's relieved that he's finally said the words to her, out loud.

Leah feels tears prick at her eyes, unwanted and unbidden. Because for the first time in her life, she is truly able to empathise what it's like to be missing a father, and the realisation is painful. As painful as these last few weeks have been.

She takes her time answering. "Do you want to know?"

"I know who it _could_ be," Embry mumbles, and his hands start trembling in his lap. He balls them into fists, and Leah finds herself putting her own hand over one of them. She's not scared of him phasing, but then she's never had all that much self-preservation. Their friend Quil is proof of that.

"Have you spoken to Tiffany about it?"

"Can't," he says, sniffing. "How can I tell her without telling her what I am? That's the only reason I ever found out."

Leah is . . . confused. She sorts through her memory as quickly as she can, gleaning through all the snippets of information she has learned since her brother exploded in the living room.

And then it comes to her. Jacob had said something about it yesterday — about the wolves passing on the gene. _As long as future generations have the gene_. . .

The legends she has grown up hearing are not pack secrets. The two are a different kettle entirely. But she knows lineages. Knows all the families who take pride in descending from Taha Aki — her own included. Her great-great-uncle is, was, none other than Levi Uley. Uley is her mom's maiden name.

Uley, Ateara, Black.

She can't speak. Only her slight intake of breath gives her away.

Embry hears it. He straightens his back, looking towards the water now the rain has stopped. "I thought Jacob would have told you already, but then back on the trail you had no idea . . . Surprised me, is all."

"It didn't really come up in conversation," she offers weakly.

"No. Don't suppose it would have done, really," Embry mutters wryly, "not when he can't even bring himself to ask Billy."

"Do you want to know?" she asks Embry again, pulling her hood down and looking up at him properly. It's hard to put his sixteen years into the face the wolf has given him. Whose brother is he? Sam's, Quil's, or Jake's?

"I think," Embry says slowly, mulling over each word despite the evident agony within the lines around his eyes, "it would ruin everything, if I did. It almost happened, you know. After Quil phased, the first time he could truly look me in the eye was the day we ran into you. His bad mood that day wasn't _entirely_ about how he'd been so mean to you." He shrugs. "S'pose nobody wants to think ill of their, uh -- you know."

"Of their dead dad," she finishes glumly.

"Yeah. Sorry. That's the second time in almost as many days that I've put my foot in it about Harry, haven't I? I don't mean it."

"Don't worry about it. You can help Quil walk that dog I don't have to make up for it." Embry manages a grin at that, which she returns, and says, "We can start a club, us three."

"What, with secret handshakes and stuff? That'd so piss off Jake, you know." But the familiar glint of mischief in his eye has returned, and she is relieved. "What should we call ourselves?"

She doesn't miss a beat. "How about 'Dead Dads and Absent Fathers Anonymous'? We can get together on anniversaries, and stuff."

Embry chokes on his laugh. "That's . . . dark. You're so twisted, you know that? I don't care, I like it. I'm in," he declares, and, on his insistence, they spend the next half an hour developing a handshake.

Pushing all of her pending problems aside, Leah thinks that it's the least depressing afternoon she's had in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of two updates planned, in case you miss the notifications! I'd already written half of the next chapter before I decided Leah should have time with Embry, too, only proving once again that I am a massive panster. I know how this story is going to end and a vague idea of how I am going to do it, but I have no idea how long it will take. So for those who have asked, I honestly can't tell you how many chapters are left. I'm just enjoying the ride, and I hope you are too. Thank you for being here this far down the road.
> 
> I go back to work next week, so things will slow slightly, but I'm determined to get this done -- which means everything awaiting an update is on the back burner, sorry to say; this one takes up a lot of my free time and remains the priority (unless I decide to give myself a break and pick up from where I've abandoned Lee and Julie). Maybe one day I'll change my panster ways and figure out a schedule. See you soon!
> 
> Next: Jacob.


	26. twenty-five

_hold on to what we are / hold on to your heart  
Of Monsters And Men, "Your Bones"_

* * *

**twenty-five.**

* * *

_(Jacob)_

He doesn't show up for patrol or babysitting duties for the next two days -- not that he's exactly been asked or ordered to, and not that he'd have shown any kind of willingness if he had. For the first time since he joined the pack, Jacob finds himself left alone. Completely alone.

It's oddly liberating. Peaceful. Mind-numbingly boring, yes, after what his life has been like recently, and his whole body aches as it struggles to keep the wolf in check. His thoughts are too quiet without the overlap of his brothers interrupting him, and he finds he misses them after their near-constant presence (even Paul, sometimes). But he certainly doesn't miss being at anybody's beck and call.

It's probably for the best, anyway, keeping his distance. For now, at least. Sam has probably been dying to exert some control ever since he almost lost it. And if it's true that he's been struggling with keeping everyone in line ever since, then it's the perfect opportunity to reinstate himself. Jacob only being there to throw another spanner in the works is cause for another disaster.

Of course, Sam _could_ have assumed that his resignation would be with immediate effect. Maybe the Alpha is playing his own game, just to see how long this whole idea is going to last, and then he can have a great big laugh when it fails. Jacob thinks little enough of Sam that he easily considers this the most plausible reason why nobody's been sent to his door.

Yet.

On the morning of his third day playing truant, Jacob has to force himself to leave his bedroom (which _still_ smells like Leah all over) and he just has to wonder how much longer he can keep this up for. He hasn't phased for six days now, not since the fight, his longest streak yet. But he can feel it building underneath his skin with every passing day; his limbs are heavy, his head hurts, his skin _burns._ And with the imprint being stretched as thin as it is, he's not sure if he can last another day. Let alone another hour.

Man. Quitting cold turkey _sucks_.

He's not going to make it, he knows that; he'll most likely be back on four paws by the end of the day. He's not delusional. Still, he'll have made his point and that's all that matters. He has to make use of all that stubbornness he's inherited from Billy somehow.

He hasn't been all that forthcoming with his father. Billy will surely be told everything at the next Council meeting, but at the moment he isn't exactly aware his son is essentially conducting an experiment. He'd flip if he did. He just believes that all this lousing around is part of an adjustment period to do with the imprint, and he thinks Sam has been gracious enough to grant Jacob some respite from all the hell it's given him.

Billy likes Sam. A lot.

Regardless, Jacob is more than happy to keep his father in the dark. Messing with the tribe's safety when the Cullens have returned (again) _and_ there's a nomad on the loose? That's an absolute no-no, in the Council's book.

He feels kinda guilty about it. He's been spending a lot of time in the garage, either in his hammock or his toolbox, hiding from the impending storm he likes to call _Big Trouble._ It's exactly how he plans to spend the rest of the day, if only because losing himself within his safe haven is just about the only thing that distracts him from fully acknowledging the gaping hole Leah has left in his life.

If this is going to be a permanent thing -- if he is going to be made to live with this loss forever -- then he doesn't know what he'll do. How he'll cope when the wolf will never recover. When _he_ will never recover, instead left to be this broken shell of a man he should have, _could_ have been.

Much like his father, really. Billy has never quite recovered from the loss of Sarah.

It doesn't bear thinking about, turning into his father.

Billy's at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of joe when Jacob finally drags his feet all the way down the hall ( _broken,_ howls the wolf, _that will be you, me, us)_.

The old man doesn't bother with pleasantries. "You heading over to see the Clearwaters today?"

 _Are you heading over to see Leah?_ is what he means.

"No, Dad. I told you. She'll find me when she's ready. Stop being so pushy."

"Okay, okay. I was only asking, sheesh." Billy tips his mug and trains his eyes the last of his coffee, his smile annoyingly wry. "Just seemed like you'd already kinda ironed everything out when she spent the night, is all."

Jacob sputters and feels himself turn beetroot. " _Dad._ We're not -- she didn't -- _we_ didn't--"

The old bastard just laughs into his mug. In spite of all his hidden pain, he is absolutely euphoric about the imprint -- exactly as Jacob always knew he would be -- but the fact that it's _Leah Clearwater_ has him practically giddy. He's as proud as punch.

(Sometimes Jacob wonders what life would have been like if the wolf had called a generation early, if his father would have imprinted on his mother. He certainly loved her as though he had -- as much as Sam loves Emily and Jared loves Kim. And Jacob is frightened by that, mostly for his father who will never move on.)

Billy is still laughing when the phone rings. He picks it up from the table and answers with all that amusement in his tone still. That is, until it vanishes in the blink of an eye. The atmosphere turns so quickly that it's almost like the laughter was never there to begin with.

Jacob pauses warily at the fridge. There are only three things in the world that make Billy react like that upon answering the phone: the death of a loved one, the endocrinologist he has made it his life-mission to avoid, and Bella Swan's twice-daily calls.

 _"Hi, Billy,"_ Jacob hears her tinny voice say through the receiver. _"Is Jake there?"_

His father sighs dramatically, more than strictly necessary (it's not exactly as if Bella is unable to hear him, which just goes to show how little patience the man has left), and he extends the phone half-heartedly with his thick eyebrows arched in question.

Jacob answers with a Look that very clearly says: _Not a chance in hell._

Billy rolls his eyes and presses the phone back to his ear. "Yes, Bella," he replies wearily, rubbing his free hand over his face, "he's here."

 _"Can I --"_ She clears her throat. _"_ May _I speak to him, please?"_

"He doesn't want to talk, Bella."

Bella doesn't answer for a second, clearly affronted, but she quickly ups the ante. _"But I've been calling for days! I really want to talk to him. He's obviously right there, just tell him that--"_

"He knows," Billy answers sharply. "He just doesn't want to talk to you."

Billy is firm in this, and Jacob is overwhelmingly grateful for his father being so stalwart -- even if it is only because the old man utterly adores one Leah Clearwater. Billy has made it extremely clear over the last few days that, regardless of the imprint, he is very much in Leah's camp (at least once an hour, sometimes, if he's being especially pushy). He has always loved her like another daughter and Seth like another son, so if his family is to be matched with another, then who better than the Clearwaters? Their pedigree trumps that of Charlie's family, after all.

Jacob privately thinks that's all a bit old-fashioned, a bit too sectarian for his own liking. He loves his father, but the old man's judgement is skewered. And his Council are nothing but a bunch of bigots, no more than a group of old men who are blinded by heritage, by tradition; they would have quickly honoured _any_ girl chosen as an imprint -- even a paleface (after they'd gotten over the shock of it, anyway). Hell, Jacob would bet they'd welcome Bella herself.

But he isn't stupid enough to say that to any of their faces.

He throws a thumbs-up over his shoulder at the mild inflection in his father's voice before diving for the orange juice carton.

_"Billy, please--"_

"Sorry, Bella," comes the reply, and it doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest. Billy's feelings towards Charlie Swan's daughter have been on a steep downward spiral ever since he found out about her involvement with the Cullens. Her _willing_ involvement. "Bye."

The phone clatters back down onto the table. Point made.

Jacob deliberately avoids any piercing eyes as he gulps down his juice. It's only when he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand that he throws a guilty but grateful glance. "Thanks."

"Learned some lessons from Leah dealing with that one," his dad grumbles, still evidently a little annoyed. Jacob frowns in question -- what does _that_ mean? -- but he only receives a shake of the head and a sigh in return. "You're gonna have to tell her sooner or later, son. As much as I love having you home more often, I'm not gonna tolerate _that_ much longer."

He doesn't need to clarify what _'that'_ is.

Jacob is unperturbed. "So pull the cord out." And at the long-suffering sigh he hears, he throws the now-empty carton into the trash and says, "Oh, come on, Dad. I'd be willing to bet Bella found out as soon as Embry and Quil--" _and Leah_ "--had that run-in with her bloodsucker anyway. Mind-reader, remember? Probably spilled the beans to her first chance."

"So why's she still calling here all hours?"

"Because she's neurotic," Jacob replies simply, flatly. He doesn't mean to be nasty, but she _is_ ; that's just Bella, always has been, and he's long since accepted it _._ She wouldn't have jumped off the deep end last fall if she wasn't. She wouldn't have jumped off that damn cliff. "You know she's not happy if she's not stressing out about something."

"Or someone," his dad remarks. "I'd call that being melodramatic."

"Whatever," he mumbles annoyedly, rooting through the clean laundry pile for his black shirt. He's done talking about this. "I'll be out back if you need me. You're not going anywhere today, are you?"

His dad's 1987 Ford Tempo is in his garage, and he _really_ wants to sell it. With a little more work it's going to be an awesome drive, and it's not like Billy's going to be doing _that_ ever again; he can't feel his feet. And Jacob was only using the little car as a means to an end until the Rabbit was road-worthy. Plus, it'd give them extra money they don't have.

(Jacob thinks it's not a bad way to earn a living, fixing up and selling cars. His dad disagrees -- but luckily he's not pushing on the whole _'no school, no diploma, no future'_ problem at the moment. There are more important things.)

"No," Billy answers, rolling his chair towards the couch. "Tomorrow, maybe. And we're having Quil and Seth's bonfire on Saturday, don't forget. Sue is going to be there too -- Old Quil invited her to take Harry's place on the Council yesterday. She said yes."

"Oh." Jacob isn't all that surprised. Sue has two kids in the pack now: her son as a wolf, and her daughter as an imprint. And he knows exactly what his father is hinting at. "Makes sense, I guess." But that means . . . "What's today?"

"Wednesday," comes his father's strained reply as he hauls himself up on the loveseat. In front of the television, naturally. "Leah will be there too, of course."

Jacob does his best not to swear, his stomach sinking. He's hungry but too agitated to eat, and now he's just going to be even worse. Because unless Leah finds him first, he has barely three days to get his shit together before he sees her again.

And he'd called Bella the neurotic one.

* * *

In the confines of his garage, Jacob buries his head -- and his problems -- underneath the hood of the Tempo. He replaces the cabin and the air filters because it's the easiest thing to do and because he has the parts to hand already. He was planning to do it weeks ago.

It's a clear sign of how he's feeling that he doesn't even turn on the boombox and works in complete silence. He's struggling now, fighting with himself. Nobody is calling him to phase, but his hands shake and a vicious heat licks its way up his spine as if they are.

After an hour, he finally allows himself to give into the temptation of glancing towards the back of the garage where two motorbikes stand -- where he'd purposefully put them so that they won't be noticed in case any parental figures decide to pop their heads in, but also because he had been sick of looking at them.

Jacob openly stares at them now, weighing his options.

He's going to split his skin by the end of the day anyway. That's a given, with the way his fists are clenched tight. Why not make it worth it?

And he has to talk to the bloodsucker at some point. Sam won't do it because he believes Bella has made her mind up (which she clearly has) and that she's a lost cause (which she's not -- yet), and for his part he is willing to let the situation slide until she offers her neck up.

Jacob, though . . . He's been considering this over the last few days. He might have imprinted, but that doesn't mean he has stopped caring about whether Bella lives or dies -- her humanity falls under his protection, right? He might still be able to save her.

He has to give it a shot. For Charlie at least.

For himself. Because if Bella _does_ turn into a vampire, he will have no hesitation in ripping her and her new family apart to keep Leah and the pack safe. He'd settle the transgression personally, would make sure he's the first in line to burn each of their remains. But what about afterwards? How would he feel then?

Like a murderer, probably, he thinks with no satisfaction.

He _has_ to talk to the bloodsucker.

Jacob kicks up the stand of the glossy red bike, and heads for the highway.

* * *

Half an hour later, right on schedule, Charlie Swan turns positively purple before his eyes.

The man shouts for a whole quarter of an hour, promising to inform Billy of what's going on, what his son has done -- what his son has _been_ doing, because apparently building a motorbike and teaching _his_ daughter to ride that bike is as good as coercion and aiding and abetting in the Chief of Police's book.

"You were supposed to be a good influence on her -- I trusted you with her!" he rants, which makes Jacob feel like an asshole for about three seconds until he reminds himself of why exactly this has to be done. So he takes it all in silence, gladly.

He'd been counting on Charlie's reaction. Now he just has to do his part.

He does his best to appear appropriately shamed as he leaves the house and saunters half-way up the path where he knows the bloodsucker will catch his scent, where Charlie cannot see or hear, and he waits.

It doesn't take long at all, considering how he'd been prepared to sit back and hang out until Bella's curfew. Maybe she's that much in trouble over the whole Italy thing that Charlie's only allowing her to go to work and to school. Surely she's being escorted by her one-tick protection detail, though.

When he finally sees the silver car roll by -- a fucking Volvo, of all things -- he is leaning against the mossiest tree trunk he could find (because he hopes it will help mask the undeniable stench he is about to be greeted with). There is only one heartbeat inside of the car, accompanied by the owner's shocked gasp. Jacob hears the betrayal within it. She must have seen the bike where he so conveniently parked it for the whole street to see.

There's a slight pause of comprehension, soon followed by a hiss of anger. "Is he still here?"

Jacob smirks to himself, even though he can smell the stench of the leech as soon as the Swedish piece of crap's doors open. Honestly. Couldn't it have afforded a better car?

Bella and her bloodsucker quickly start making their way towards him. One pair of footsteps are distinguishably heavier than the other, and it makes his stomach roll from how unnatural it is. How unnatural they are together, her and . . . _him_. Pronouns are hard to apply to the undead.

"Let me go! I'm going to murder him! _Traitor_!"

He knows Bella's shriek is for his benefit, and he snorts to himself. She might not be able to hear or see him, but he knows that the parasite latched onto her can -- and that it's probably listening to his mind, too.

"Charlie will hear you," the tick warns. Jacob wonders just how many names for her vampire he can get through before the confrontation (the _reminder_ , he amends) is finished. He'd be placing a bet with Embry and Quil, if they were here; it would be a sweet competition. "And once he gets you inside, he may brick over the doorway."

Hell, Jacob thinks, he'd help Charlie if he thought it'd do any good.

"Just give me one round with Jacob," he hears Bella argue through her teeth, "and then I'll deal with Charlie."

He laughs again, hoping that she can hear him this time. But the fresh stench infecting the air hits the back of his throat, and it's an effort not to spit. He's going to have to limit his breathing, just like he'd been forced to do with the tiny psychic who had whisked Bella off to Italy. Their two scents are different, one sweeter than the other, one fouler, and yet still the same. Still vampires. Still his mortal enemies.

"Jacob Black wants to see _me_. That's why he's still here."

Bella quietens, her noisy struggle against granite skin ceasing almost immediately. "Talk?"

"More or less."

She is suspicious. "How much more?"

"Don't worry, he's not here to fight me. He's acting as . . . spokesperson for the pack."

Bella doesn't pick up on the lie and allows herself to be hurried on. Her 'boy'-friend knows exactly why Jacob is here and under whose authority he has come: his own.

The last time Jacob saw Edward Cullen, he had cut in on a dance with Bella at her prom and passed on that whacky message from his father in exchange for twenty dollars and the promise of the master cylinder he needed to complete the Rabbit. Leah and his brothers have seen the abomination more recently than he has, and he hasn't shared their minds recently to know of the changes. Changes he realises he should have expected, really, when he sees the vampire again for himself.

The smell is the same -- so much more potent; he realises now of course that it hadn't been any kind of rancid perfume she had been wearing that day -- but his eyesight has improved since he was that kid with puppy fat still in his cheeks. The leech -- _Edward --_ looks like the pretend-sister did, like a damn crystal, all angles and shine even in the absence of the sunshine. Jacob compares the two images in his mind, pre-phase and post, and he is startled at his own blindness.

He shrugs away from the tree, his wolf already scrabbling to be set free so it can divide and conquer. He leashes it for the fiftieth time that day and looks at Bella, brown-eyed and pink and human, and descends into a lethal calm.

Edward hears all this, of course, and keeps Bella a healthy distance away, tucking her behind impenetrable marble. But not impenetrable to Jacob.

She peers around the corpse. _Him._ Damn pronouns.

"Bella," Jacob greets evenly.

"Why?" she whispers. "How could you do this to me, Jacob?"

Her pain doesn't pierce him as it one did. He remains stone-faced. "It's for the best."

"What is that supposed to mean? Do you want Charlie to strangle me? Or did you want him to have a heart attack, like Harry? No matter how mad you are at me, how could you do this to him?"

Jacob tries not to wince and keeps his silence. If Charlie Swan was about to have a heart attack, he would have had one when he'd seen the red bike or when he'd been unleashing his rarely-seen temper to its deliverer.

"He didn't want to hurt anyone -- he just wanted to get you grounded, so that you wouldn't be allowed to spend time with me."

Jacob's eyes snap to the voice, narrowing with hatred he cannot contain. Apparently, Bella is given everything she wants. But will she ever be given the ultimate prize, he wonders? Does she really want it?

"Aw, Jake!" she protests. "I'm _already_ grounded! Why do you think I haven't been down to La Push to kick your butt for avoiding my phone calls?"

"I knew you were grounded already," he tells her. Leah had told him as much. "But I like the point your bloodsucker plucked out of my head," he adds, jerking his chin sharply toward the party in question, "--so let's stick with that one. You've been doing pretty well without ' _him'_ up until now, so why ruin all that progress?"

He is not frightened to hurt her like Edward is, and he doesn't show any remorse as Bella visibly flinches at the reminder -- because she _had_ been getting better, she knows it, they both do -- and the arm of crystal around her only tightens. But Jacob knows she will forgive him. She always does. She's tough enough to withstand a little poke at her insecurities, tougher than her bloodsucker believes.

Bella blinks away the pain, masters it as she has learned how. Meanwhile Edward is quiet at her side, but Jacob can taste the fury there. Would see it if he bothered to look.

"If you knew I was grounded, then why aren't you answering my phone calls? I called today, when I was at work, and your dad--"

"He knows," Edward murmurs, "he was there, like you knew he was."

"Stop that," Jacob snaps through gritted teeth. It's _so_ annoying. No wonder Bella is the only person who can stand it, being the only one whose thoughts are protected. "If you want to sort through my memories, then take the one that tells you why I'm here and then do us all a favour and leave her the hell _alone_ before--"

"No," Bella gasps.

"Hush, love, it's fine," Edward reassures her. She is thinking the worst -- neurotic to a tee, didn't Jacob already say so? Then the leech adds, for his benefit, "I know why you're here, Jacob. But, before you begin, I need to say something."

Jacob waits, clenching and unclenching his hands as he tries to control the painful shivers rolling down his arms that tell him he is very, very close to ruining his clothes and the second-to-last pair of decent shoes he owns. Emily can sew just about anything, but she's not that great at mending sneakers. He'll be going barefoot soon enough.

"Thank you," Edward says, and Jacob refrains from gagging at the sincerity. "I will never be able to tell you how grateful I am. I will owe you for the rest of my . . . existence."

Jacob stares, eyes hard but nonetheless surprised.

Edward fakes another intake of breath. "For keeping Bella alive. When I . . . didn't."

"Edward--" Bella interrupts, but her bloodsucker raises a hand and keeps Jacob's gaze.

Five seconds, ten. And then, Jacob spits, "I didn't do it for your benefit. For your _existence._ "

"I know. But that doesn't erase the gratitude I feel. I thought you should know. If there's ever anything in my power to do for you . . ."

Jacob considers this, and thinks one clear direct thought, similar to how he focuses on speaking within the pack mind: _I'd like you to fuck off. Die, preferably, if you're so willing._

Edward only shakes his head. Jacob thinks he might see disappointment there -- at the cursing, or the being unable to die part? A man can hope. "That," Edward replies sombrely, "is not in my power."

"Whose, then?" Jacob growls.

Edward looks down to Bella, and their eyes lock. "Hers. I'm a quick learner, Jacob Black, and I don't make the same mistake twice. I'm here until she orders me away."

"Never," she replies, her voice barely above a reverent whisper.

Jacob can't hold it then, and he finally gags. He makes it as theatrical as he can, for fun, and is amused when Bella snaps back to him immediately. She's funny when she looks angry, almost like a little cub who thinks it can roar.

"Was there something else you needed, Jacob? You wanted me in trouble -- mission accomplished. Charlie might just send me to military school. But that won't keep me away from Edward. There's nothing that can do that. What more do you want?"

Jacob trains his eyes on Edward, cool and calculated. "I just needed to remind your bloodsucking friends of a few key points in the treaty they agreed to. The treaty that is the _only_ thing stopping me from ripping his throat out right this minute."

"We haven't forgotten," Edward says at the same time that Bella demands, "What key points?"

"The treaty is quite specific," Jacob tells Bella in a more reasonable tone than he can believe he is capable of at this very moment. He might as well be talking about the weather. "If any of them bite a human, the truce is over. Bite, not kill."

Bella hardens. "That's none of your business."

Jacob knew. He'd expected this. And yet still, it _hurts_ to have the assumption confirmed from her own mouth.

"It _is_ my damn business," he growls, suddenly hardly unable to keep himself in check. He has the most control out of his brothers, but even he is having a hard time staving off the wolf right now. He knows what he must look like to her, convulsing all over. Dangerous. A monster. "But the fact that you actually _want--_ "

He can't finish his sentence. He doubles-over, desperately trying to keep himself within the here and now. It's the worst thing, the worst, to know that she _wants_ this, that she's probably _planning it._ Maybe she has already. But that is the whole reason he has come -- to stop her. Stop her from making this mistake and _dying_ because if she _dies_ then he is going to have to be the one kill her _again._ He can't let his brothers do it, he just can't--

"Jake?" comes her nervous voice. Still human, he reminds himself. There's still time. Still human. "You okay?"

"Careful! He's not under control!"

 _Still human,_ Jacob chants to himself. _And so am I._

"Like _I'm_ the one who's going to hurt her. That's all you're worried about, isn't it?" He almost laughs, hard and scornful, and a voice echoes at the forefront of his mind -- exactly where it belongs, where it always should be. "Leah was right about you -- you'd spout anything. Especially if it makes you look like the good guy over me, huh?"

Bella's eyebrows dip into a frown, confused and displeased in equal measure. "Leah?"

Jake glances at Edward and thinks, _You didn't tell her?_

The leech gives a minute shake of his head, unnoticed by Bella, and all Jacob can think is, _Huh._

"What's the deal with _Leah_ all of a sudden?" Bella asks, oblivious and still scowling. Jacob hates her name on those lips, hates it said like that with that tone. "She was here on the weekend, too, with Embry and Quil."

"Charlie is basically family to us, Bella," he reminds her with a frown of his own. It's almost like reprimanding a petulant child. How many times is it that he has ignored her acting like this before? Has he been that ignorant? He hardly recognises her right now.

" _Your_ family," she says. "Not--"

"Your dad means a lot to people on the Rez -- more than just Billy and me. He was Harry's best friend, too, remember?"

Bella looks appropriately shamed. At least she does for all of two seconds, before her displeasure about that statement hits home and she's unable to cover it up again. She never was any good at hiding her emotions.

"BELLA!" Charlie's bellow carries; he has reached his limit. "YOU GET IN THIS HOUSE THIS INSTANT!"

Bella all but whimpers. "Crap."

She turns, looking down the path, comprehending her fate. But Jacob's not sorry. He'll do whatever it takes. Hopefully Charlie will wise up and get a restraining order and end up saving his daughter himself.

Yeah, right. As if that would work.

"Just one more thing," Edward says, turning back to him. "We've been unable to pick up Victoria's trail. Have you found anything?"

Jacob bites down so hard he thinks he might bleed. It's an effort to breathe -- the moss hasn't helped the stench in the slightest. "You already know the answer to that, bloodsucker. You asked my brothers the same question," he says, accusing. His thoughts drift to Leah, thinking of the argument she spoke of but he has not seen for his own eyes yet.

Edward's soulless eyes are unmoved. "And since then?"

"No." Jacob is sure of this. "The last time was while Bella was . . . away. We let her think she was slipping through -- we were tightening the circle, preparing to ambush -- but then she took off like a bat out of hell. Near as we can tell, she caught your little female's scent and bailed. She hasn't come near our lands since."

Edward nods. "When she comes back, she's not your problem anymore. We'll--"

"She killed on our turf," Jacob shoots back vehemently. "She's _ours_!"

Bella lurches forward, almost as if she thinks she will be an effective buffer between a werewolf and his mortal enemy. "No--" she starts, but another threat from Charlie echoes into the trees where the three of them are hidden from his sight and her unhappiness morphs swiftly into fear at the sound of her dad's voice. She knows how much trouble she's in.

Good. Maybe being grounded will give her a week or two to consider her life choices. Ironic as that is, when everything she wants is going to send her to her death.

"BELLA! I _SEE_ HIS CAR AND I _KNOW_ YOU'RE OUT THERE! IF YOU AREN'T _INSIDE_ THIS HOUSE IN _ONE_ MINUTE . . . !"

"Let's go," Edward tells her, but Bella looks back, her whole damn heart displayed on her face again.

"You promised," she reminds him desperately. "Still friends, right?"

Jacob shakes his head. "You know how hard I've tried to keep that promise before now, but . . . I can't see how anymore. I have priorities, now. People. Just like you do," he says. He looks at Edward and rethinks that last part with a look of disgust, deliberately uncensored. "Well. Sort of."

Bella's people are not _people._ But Jacob, he has Leah to think about. And as soon as the bloodsucker tells Bella about the imprint, he's pretty sure she's going to stop caring anyway. What's the point in trying to be friends when he knows how it's going to pan out? He's not even sure he _wants_ to be friends with her anymore. _How?_ How could he be friends with a vampire? It's impossible. Not if he's going to be the one to kill her.

Beside her, out of her sight, Edward's lip curls silently in warning. Jacob pays him no notice.

"I miss you," she pleads, reaching out over the arms she is trapped within. Not trapped. Restrained. It makes Jacob kind of sick, but she made her choice about _him_ a long time ago.

Jacob shoves his hands deep into his pockets. "Sorry."

Tears threaten. "But why? Jake . . ."

"ISABELLA _SWAN_!"

"Come on, Bella," Edward tells her, all but dragging her along. "Charlie's mad."

Jacob looks at the retreating form of his friend, knowing it could be the last time he sees her.

He is running back to La Push on four legs before she is inside the house, his clothes carrying in the wind behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hefty Disclaimer (optional): I didn't put this at the beginning because it would have acted as a spoiler. But, as you have probably realised (and kudos if you didn't -- have you managed what I have not and wiped the books from your brain?), this chapter relies on a considerable amount of 'borrowing' from New Moon's epilogue in the form of one of its scenes and direct line lifts from that scene. Far much more than I've ever used before, but I thought this would be interesting from Jacob's POV. Call it character development. Or improvement.
> 
> I also included his "canon" thoughts about a few things noted within the extra SM wrote for him (available on her website in the New Moon book section, if you're so inclined to read something in second person that I don't think does his character any justice as she clearly intended it to. I hadn't read it before now and could have gone another twelve years without doing so, but I digress). So, I'll say it again: Twilight and its inclusive material (including its alternate universe, 'Life and Death') is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> A/N: That time I said I hate notes? Yeah, forget that. Just wanted to get this (important) monster out before I start work (hoping that it tides you over) and to let you know that I promise there's a reunion in the next chapter. Much love.


	27. twenty-six

_i can fight this to the end / but maybe i don't wanna win  
Halestorm, "Familiar Taste Of Poison"_

* * *

**twenty-six.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

As soon as she sees the Blacks' tiny red house, she is immediately hit with a sense of homecoming. It has always felt this way, akin to the relief and happiness of returning from a journey no matter where she has been or for how long; and she is suddenly tired, desiring nothing more than to get inside so she can be wrapped up in familiar comfort.

Time spent between this house and her own had been almost equally divided during childhood. Then Sarah died. Leah turned fourteen not long after, and her parents decided that she'd become responsible enough to start looking after herself and Seth for a few hours after school until they finished work. They gave her a house key and a cell phone and everything, had even upped her weekly allowance for babysitting her brother, but she and Seth had continued to follow the twins and Jacob home most days anyway. And it may have been months until they were able to walk through the door without expecting to see Sarah there waiting for them, but she'd raised them well enough to know the importance of sticking together.

Then they'd gotten older. Leah had gotten older, and she'd allowed things to slip a little bit because Sam had come into the picture. Then they graduated. Then Rachel and Rebecca flew to Hawaii — only for one of them to return. Then Sam left, and Leah quit the idea of college — but Rachel went anyway, while poor Jacob and Seth were kind of left to their own devices. It's strange to think that the five of them haven't been in a room together since.

Leah parks the Rabbit, and when she reaches the Blacks' door she is comfortable enough to let herself in without knocking. After all, there's little reason to start waiting for someone to give her permission now.

It creaks open with ease. The trust which Billy has in his people to be able leave his door on the latch is absolute, unshakeable. Harry is -- _was --_ much the same, and he'd be disappointed to know that his only daughter suddenly feels the need to slide the deadbolts over every chance she gets. As pointless as the action is against the supernatural, both murdering vampires and intruding werewolves alike, anyway. God knows what _else_ is out there.

"I've just had Charlie on the phone," the Chief's gravelly voice calls as soon as he hears the door. "What the _hell_ were you thinking, pulling a stunt like that?"

Billy leans around the open doorway just off the kitchen. He looks . . . not angry, she thinks, no. More annoyed. Exasperated, even. But that clears quickly as soon as he sees her, and he breaks into a grin. "Leah!"

She raises an eyebrow, perfected after a life of being on the receiving end of it. She can't remember the last time Billy greeted her so enthusiastically, and she knows exactly what his game is.

"Not interrupting something, am I?"

"Just Jake being Jake," he says. The nonchalant shrug he gives is the same as his son's and his wide smile turns into a smirk. "I don't think he'll be too much longer, if you want to wait."

She's undeterred. "What did he do?"

They stare at each other, and for a moment she thinks he's not going to tell her. But then he laughs, shaking his head like there's a joke she has missed. "Sounds like he gave Bella her motorbike back. Just about topped off Charlie's month, where that girl of his is concerned. Don't think she'll be seein' the light of day for a while."

She steps aside to make room so Billy can roll past her and then follows him into the living room. "Motorbike? Bella?"

Billy still seems amused. "Charlie hates them. But I'd bet Jake knew that."

Charlie's a cop -- of course he hates them. Except Leah has never thought of Jacob as particularly spiteful. And she doesn't think that he is stupid, either; he can't have been oblivious to how he was being used.

"So . . . he wanted to get her into trouble?"

She can't deny that there's a tiny part of her that is pleased. Maybe Jacob has finally snapped. She thought that it would have happened a while ago -- when Bella ran to Italy, maybe, and welcomed her vampire back -- but then Leah has never pretended to understand their relationship. It was bad enough watching Jake fawn over her at Christmas, and it had only gotten worse a month after that when their families had gotten together for dinner -- just around the time that the other girl had begun to latch onto him like she would depend on life support. Leah had spent most of the time on the phone with Rachel so that she didn't have to look at all the heart eyes.

"Don't know. Probably." Billy shrugs again. "Last I knew, he was in the garage and then suddenly he was tearing off. Just assumed he was off to find you, or something."

Leah pretends not to hear that last part. She has more questions than she's willing to voice, more than Billy likely knows the answer to. God knows how his son's mind works. Every time she thinks she's just about getting used to it, he does something like this.

"How long ago did Charlie call?" she asks instead.

Billy sets himself up in his usual seat. "'Bout five minutes before you walked in."

She nods, more to herself, resolve clearing. "I'll wait outside for him, then."

"Sure, sure. He'll like that."

"Don't think I haven't seen the mess in here, old man," she tosses over her shoulder as she walks away and hears the television turn on. "I'll be back."

"Counting on it." He sounds pleased. A second later, he calls, "Oh, and Leah, sweetie?"

She turns back, hand on the door.

Billy beams from the couch, expression alight with mischief and something else. "Welcome to the family."

The way he says it sounds like he's welcoming her home. And he's so goddamn happy with himself that Leah has the sudden urge to scoff -- at him, at his presumption of inevitability, but also at herself for wanting to quirk her lips in spite of it all. Because Billy has been as good as a second father; he _knows_ her, knows exactly how she feels about his house and his family.

Settling instead for a roll of her eyes before she leaves, she makes sure that the door shuts with a satisfying snap behind her. But it's Billy's laughter she hears.

Leah finally allows herself the tiniest of smiles as she sets off towards the garage.

If Jacob is going to be anywhere, it's right there. And it must be destiny, kismet, fate, or something -- but honestly, at this point she wouldn't be surprised if it's the spirits meddling with her; they've done a fair amount of that already -- because he comes striding out of the woods almost as soon as she reaches the huge, wide wooden doors.

He scowls at the ground as he walks, radiating with enough fury and unhappiness that she can feel it from this distance. It's tugging at her, the imprint -- there is no other explanation she has for this overwhelming need to rush over and erase those lines from his face.

She doesn't give in to it. Shock keeps her rooted. Jacob is oblivious to the world around him, oblivious to her standing there and gawking at him. At his naked body.

He stops in his tracks, only halfway near before she's finished cataloguing all the muscles and bare skin. It's odd, the sense of possession which engulfs her. She's never felt it as fiercely as this before, and it takes a long while -- longer than she'd like, longer than is strictly normal, anyway -- to feel sickened by herself. It's not that many days ago she was declaring Jacob did not own _her._

 _'You're mine,'_ he'd said.

 _Mine_ , she thinks, looking at him still. What a disgusting hypocrite she is.

They stare at each other for half a minute longer. He doesn't seem as embarrassed as she is, doesn't move to cover himself up or bolt in the other direction. He's proud enough to keep his shoulders up.

When her traitorous eyes dare look lower than his chest again, Jacob breaks the silence and starts walking towards her again. "Inside," he says, his voice giving nothing away, and he gestures for her to go on ahead.

Leah springs into action. And she most definitely does _not_ trip over her feet a little bit in her haste, thank you very much.

The garage is deeper than it appears. In all her years, this is the one place on the Blacks' land which she's never ventured. She remembers thinking not too long ago that it would go up in flames if she did. But so far, Jacob's sanctuary is still standing.

As soon as he follows, he grabs a pair of blue cut-offs from a pile kept underneath his workbench and pulls them on quickly. They're ill-fitting; he is forced to leave the top button undone, and Leah has to turn her concentration elsewhere. She wanders over to a black motorbike leant against the farthest wall, hidden behind the old Ford which she recognises as Billy's and has been jacked up on its side.

"You keep clothes in here?"

"Emergencies," he replies evenly, and Leah wonders if he's a bit pissed off with her. If she can feel his warring emotions, can he feel hers? The ownership she'd felt? He probably hasn't forgotten her telling him off for the same thing.

She ghosts her fingers over the seat of the polished bike, its leather cracked and discoloured, worn from use. She's jumped from possession to embarrassment to apprehensiveness in the space of two minutes. It's . . . disconcerting, to say the least. The fact that she can't look at him now after staring so openly is downright ridiculous.

"I wouldn't call this an emergency." (She sounds exactly as stupid as she feels. Since when did _she_ let herself be thrown off-track by a _boy_?) "More like . . . caught in the act. Is this your bike, then?"

"Uh -- yeah," he answers, confused by the turn of conversation.

"What colour was Bella's?" she asks innocently, eyes still averted. It's easier than looking into the intensity she knows she will find growing on Jacob's face, just as it always does.

There's a stretch of silence. Then, "Charlie ratted on me already, didn't he?"

"Mm-hm." Leah starts tracing over the shiny black paint. "What made you do it?"

Sounding wary, Jacob asks, "Are you annoyed?"

"No. Just morbidly curious."

"Morbidly . . . ? You know you don't have to worry about her, right? Because I told you--"

"Oh, I'm not." ( _Not much, anyway._ ) "But Billy said Charlie was real mad. Said she'd probably be locked up for good, after what you did."

"Well, that was sorta the point. I thought she might not be allowed to be around her bloodsuckers so much, then," he says, unable to disguise the bitterness in his voice. "Might make her realise there's more to life than dying to be one of them, but I guess -- well, let's just say it was probably a pointless exercise in the . . ." He trails off. "Please look at me. You're kinda freaking me out here, honey."

Leah turns around, finally coming face-to-face with exactly what she knew she'd see. Up close Jacob looks ragged, like he's not had any sleep in days even though she knows he's not been patrolling, and he is so clearly pissed off with the world -- with Bella. But Leah can still see _that_ look underneath it all. She can still see how he burns.

She leans against the bike, perching on the edge of the wide seat. A picture of calm. It's a far cry from how she really feels, a wonder how her hands are as steady as they are.

Jacob waits, watching. It's not as if he doesn't know why she is here. She doesn't really need to carry on pretending otherwise.

"How does this work, then?" she asks, still quiet and composed. "Is there something I need to do, something I need to say . . . ? I don't know the formalities."

"You don't _have_ to do anything."

"I do," she answers in that same tone. Cautious but deceptively self-possessed, because they're not just talking about formalities now.

He holds her eyes, his own full of quiet but desperate longing. Unblinking. "Do you want to?"

She doesn't answer. She knows she's driving him insane -- she's been driving herself insane, these past three days, wondering just what in the hell she thought she hoped to achieve by creating so much distance between them when all she really wanted was to see him.

It was the right thing to do, though, walking away. Staying away. She is too proud to give in so easily. And she knows that every doubt she's had, every time she has second-guessed herself has been because of the imprint. She doesn't understand the workings of it any better, the whys and the hows, but she's closer to understanding her own feelings. All she has to do is remember herself, the person she'd been before Harry passed.

She blows a long breath. "Can we get out of here?"

"Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere." She pulls his keys from her jacket pocket, and his hand snaps up to catch the leather cord out of the air quicker than lightning. "Away from the Rez."

If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. "Sure," he says, hand curling around metal. "I'll take you wherever you want. Although . . ." He looks down at himself, at his too-small shorts. "You mind if I get some pants that fit first?"

Her attention flickers to the strong, distracting planes of his chest. "And a shirt?"

He smiles as if he knows, both pleased with himself and forever hopeful. "Whatever you want."

* * *

They reach the end of the one-ten before they speak again. Fifteen minutes. Not that she's counting.

Leah had sat in the car whilst he changed. He had been starting the engine only three minutes later -- not that she'd been counting _that_ , either -- and headed towards the highway without further question as to what they were doing or where they might be going. She thinks he _might_ have been pleased upon noticing the full tank of gas she'd returned the Rabbit with, but she hadn't been able to tell.

(Anyone with good manners would have done it . . . although she hopes he doesn't think she had planned this out -- that she, too, is only using him, when the real truth is that she has absolutely no idea what she's doing.)

"Left or right?"

"Right," she says. Left is Forks. It's a no-brainer.

They speed north before the highway veers east, taking them closer to Port Angeles. In spite of the quiet tension and what has obviously been a stressful morning for him -- if losing his clothes is anything to go by -- Jacob is very clearly in his element. Calm, content to do just this, because nothing beats being able to drive something he has put so much of his heart and soul into building. It's his labour of love. Everyone who has listened to him over the past couple of years knows as much.

He is wearing fraying cut-offs and a grey t-shirt that clings, radiating heat and confidence as he drives. Leah feels awkward in her zipped rifle green parka by comparison -- much like she did when hiking with Embry, but at least she had the good sense to put her boots on instead of her crappy sneakers this time.

Jacob notices. He always does. Or maybe he can read her mind like he can his brothers'.

Shit, she hopes not.

He frowns. "Are you cold?"

Realising that she has been tugging on her sleeve, she pointedly folds her ridiculously warm hands in her lap. "No. Apparently I'm like you now. I took my temperature yesterday," she explains before he can ask, more for distraction than anything else, "and the damn thing said one-oh-two. I did it _four times_. Can you believe it? I should be laid up in bed with a fever." She is on the verge babbling but cannot stop. "Then I remembered what you said about everything feeling cold to you now. Except the pack -- and me. Anyway, good thing I did because I almost went to the clinic. How would I have explained it?"

"Yeah," he mumbles apologetically. Clearly he is bothered by this, but why she doesn't know. "Mine's dropped. Happened to the others, too. Things just start kinda . . . balancing out, I guess."

"Great," she retorts dryly. "Am I going to start sprouting fur, too?"

Jacob relaxes somewhat at the wisecrack. "That would be cool. You'd have us whipped into shape in no time. The Council would have a fit."

"Sexist," she grumbles, recalling that Embry had said something similar about Old Quil. "So they think we're only good for imprinting and -- what, exactly?"

"Well," Jacob starts hesitantly, "they -- the Council, I mean--"

"The men," Leah interjects pointedly.

Jacob pulls a face. "Whatever. They believe it's about, you know . . ." His cheeks tinge with darker colour, and he pointedly keeps his focus on the road. "Strengthening the Quileute line. For the future."

She scoffs in her disgust. "I was right. I said it was about breeding, didn't I?"

"You also said it was the most disgusting thing you'd ever heard," he reminds her underneath his breath, pained. But still she hears every word.

"Yes, and I was right about that, too," she says, unrepentant. Her temper is rising. "But if you're under the impression that I'll be allowing myself to be defined as some kind of Black baby maker, forever pregnant and barefoot and stuck in your kitchen, then you've got another thing coming."

"I said the Council thinks that. I don't."

"Fine. What do you think, then?"

He considers it for a moment, deliberating carefully. "I think . . . I think it has nothing to do with genetics. The previous pack didn't imprint on anyone, but we're still good enough, aren't we? We still do our job. Although, I suppose . . . _maybe_ people would say it is in our case. You might not phase, but you have the right genes; you're Uley and Ateara both, I'm a Black . . ." Jacob takes a deep breath, shaking his head. "But if it really worked that way, then Sam would never have imprinted on a Makah girl," he concludes baldly, and Leah has the suspicion that he may be testing the waters a little bit. Testing her reactions and glancing out of the corner of his eye for the results.

She just shrugs. Whatever Jacob is looking for, he is not going to find it. "She's a little bit Quileute."

"Not enough, by those kind of standards. If imprinting is to make our line strong, then it doesn't make really much sense."

"It does to me," she says. "Think about it. If you carry on with the theory that it's genetics, that only Quileute boys should imprint on Quileute girls, then you could argue there's just not enough of us -- we're all a little bit related somewhere. And maybe Ephraim and his pack didn't imprint simply because they didn't look beyond their front doorstep. I don't imagine they went anywhere farther than Hoquiam in those times, and that's only because it's where the Cullens went first. Right?"

Jacob looks at her dead on then, and she thinks that he is a little bit impressed and -- dare she think it -- proud. "Someone has been brushing up on their history."

She smiles sweetly, proud in her own right. "Mom's a Councilwoman now, don't you know."

"I heard." He returns her smile with genuine feeling. "Good on Sue. Maybe she'll be the one to change my old man's outdated beliefs, huh?"

"She's a working woman. I'm hopeful her expectations of me are far higher than conforming to such ridiculous and antiquated gender roles," Leah declares, her tone dancing a thin line between contempt and arrogance. And it might have been entirely for show, but Jacob laughs so hard he has to lean forward against the steering wheel. His throaty sound rings in her ears.

"Maybe we should put _you_ on the Council," he jests, still chuckling.

"I don't think they'd like that," she replies, but her expression is smug as she looks out of the window. The thick forest is like a wall either side of them, tall and domineering. But it's home. And for all her sudden desire to escape her beloved Reservation for a while, she loves Washington too -- even in the rain. "Are we going to Port Angeles?"

"No idea." Jacob leans back in his seat, traces of laughter still on his face. "Where do you want to go? It's a bit late, but we could carry on to Seattle, I guess."

"But that's like another three hours of driving." But maybe the driving is his point. "Do you even like the city?"

"Not really," he admits, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Too crowded. You?"

"Hate it," she agrees earnestly, and he seems pleased. "Take the one-thirteen instead, just up here. I know a place we can go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is not *too* far away. I had to split the chapters before it became another monster.
> 
> Also, please have a look at the Quileute Nation's Move to Higher Ground campaign if you haven't already. (FF's ToS is a bit dodgy relating to advertising. But for this, I don't care.)


	28. twenty-seven

_who wants a love that makes sense anyway?  
Mumford & Sons, "Wild Heart"_

* * *

**twenty-seven.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

Sundown is less than an hour away, but Leah pays no heed to the fading light. She continues her hike, exhilarated and excited, keenly aware of Jacob's every move behind her.

It's out of pity when she eventually pauses for a moment; he has been trying -- rather unsuccessfully -- to coax her back to sandy shores from the moment she jumped up onto the rocks, his voice pitching with panic every time her feet step just a little _too_ close to the edge of the breakwater.

If she carries on much longer, he will undoubtedly sweep her over his shoulder and bolt in the opposite direction. Honestly -- it's the only reason she's taunted him for as far as she has.

Balancing precariously on uneven footing now, she points a finger towards where the orange-red horizon has cast its fire glow over the Salish Sea. They've almost reached the exact spot she likes to hang her legs over the wall and turn her back to the world behind -- where there's nothing to be seen except for the open stretch of water beyond. Pillar Point is just one of her many favourite places in Washington, in the whole world, but she has never shared it with anyone else before. Has never had anyone she wanted to share it with.

Until now.

Her skin tingles from the briny wind that has tangled her hair as she throws a mile-wide grin over her shoulder.

"Look," she says, gleeful. "Do you like it?"

"Love it," he replies through gritted teeth, more sarcastic than enthusiastic, his face taut with anxiety. "Now let's go back. Please."

Her laugh is loud enough to frighten the crying gulls into the sky. The desire she feels to be as strong as a wolf is all-consuming, but it is in this moment that she feels as free as the birds above. "Stop worrying so much. Come on!"

"I will when _you_ stop being an idiot! Get back now!" he yells -- just at exactly the same time she pretends to wobble a little too far to the left, and she bursts into laughter again when he almost trips over the salt-stained rocks in his hurry to catch her.

"You're not funny," he grumbles, trying to keep an eye on both her and his feet as he manoeuvres himself over the rocks. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"No, I'm not. You're here," she says, laughing still as she daringly sets off again.

Jacob grumbles underneath his breath, words muffled by the breeze, but still he follows. He keeps his hands outstretched, prepared to catch her should she fall, and it warms her healed heart enough that she slows down enough to remain within his reach until they reach the end of the breakwater and finally sit.

"You're so dangerous," he complains, dropping down beside her. He drapes an arm over her shoulder, keeping her close -- keeping her safe, away from the dangers only an imprinted wolf can see.

But he is still unhappy with her. "You did that on purpose."

Leah leans her head back against his arm and beams up at him, unabashed and unapologetic. "Sorry."

"Liar." His snort is flat, though his expression has softened somewhat, and she knows she is forgiven already. "Don't do it again."

She cranes her neck over his shoulder. The few people on the beach are mere specks behind them. "You know we've gotta go back the way we came, right?"

"I'm carrying you," he announces resolutely, following her line of sight with no small amount of horror.

Leah rolls her eyes to high heaven and back. "I can walk, Jake."

"You can complain about sexism once your feet are on even ground again."

"Oh, stop having a cow," she teases. "Is this what it's going to be like every time there's a bit of danger? Because I hate to break it to you, but I've been told there's a vampire on the loose."

He grunts. "Don't remind me."

She just grins, easy and natural like the gentle waves underneath her boots.

So far, they've done a pretty good job of avoiding the obvious. What they have discussed has been very careful, borderline hypothetical, skirting around the real reason why she has sought him out. And it doesn't seem like he's picked up on anything she's actually said that has already revealed the choice she's made.

It's easier to tease him, easier to laugh. No matter what they're doing, whether it's finding Quil or finding Sam or hiking, or just being _together_ , Leah always finds herself having such a good time with Jacob that it's hard to willingly steer them off-course. This could very easily crash and burn around her regardless of what she chooses -- what she _has_ chosen. Nothing in her world has ever proven certain.

But at this point, she knows that she's doing him more harm than good by delaying what needs to be said. What she needs to say and what he needs to hear.

"What's all this about, Leah?" he asks her before she can get the words out. His gaze has turned hot above her head. Burning, again. She doesn't have to look up at him to know what she will find. "Why here?"

"I like this place," she says, thumping heart louder than her voice.

"Is that it?"

"Do you think we'd be here, right now, if things were different?" she asks instead of replying. She's not ready yet-- just a few more minutes, a little while longer of normality . . . "That we'd be doing the same things, sitting in the same places . . ."

"If all the supernatural shit didn't exist?" he asks, and she smiles slightly. He remembers.

( _'Maybe it's just shown me what could have always been there,'_ he'd said that day. _'These last couple weeks with you, all we've done together, I'm pretty sure I'd want you even if all the supernatural stuff didn't exist.'_

' _If all the supernatural stuff didn't exist_ ,' she'd replied, ' _then I'd still be with Sam. And you . . ._ '

' _Maybe. Maybe not_.')

"Even if it did," she says this time. "Except you hadn't imprinted and you were still . . . free."

"Why wouldn't I imprint on you?" he asks, frowning, offended at the idea.

"Maybe imprinting doesn't exist," she suggests casually, willing him to play along, to understand, "or maybe the right person hasn't come along yet, I don't know."

He blinks, entirely oblivious. "But there isn't anyone else." Because in _his_ world, there _is_ certainty. Far more than there has ever been in hers.

Leah rolls her eyes. "Humour me."

Jacob scratches the back of his head with his free hand, out of his depth. "I don't know," he says. "I think . . . Yeah, we _could_ have been, if that's what you're asking. Very easily. Whether we _would_ have . . . I have no idea. You're kinda scary sometimes. I probably would have been too frightened to make a move."

Her smile turns wry. He's caught on, finally playing her game. "So it would have been up to me to ask you out, I suppose?"

"I like strong women," he jokes, except it actually comes out sounding more like a question, and she can't help but snort. Jacob even manages to return her smile. "I would have said yes, though, if you had." A beat. "Would you have?"

Leah opens her mouth. Hesitates.

Except, there's not much to consider. Jacob has always been a good kid, she thinks. And she's always thought of him as just that -- a kid. He's Rach and Beck's baby brother, owning all of their best traits, all of their mother's kindness and their father's devotion for the tribe. He can be slightly temperamental at times, sure, but then so can she -- only he has an excuse for it because his hormones are probably all messed up from being forced to literally explode out of his skin, whilst she can't even confidently claim puberty anymore.

And, well -- shit, it's not as if she's blind or anything _._ Jacob is not just a good kid through and through, he's also a good- _looking_ kid. And he certainly doesn't look like a kid anymore.

If the world had given the two of them a chance, Leah is sure she would have gotten over any reservations eventually. About their small age difference, about having watched each other grow up . . . It's easy between them now. Easier than it has ever been. They are opposite in so many ways and yet they _match._ What's to say it really would have been any different if he hadn't imprinted? It's not like the damn thing has rewritten who she is.

_Maybe it's just shown me what could have always been there . . ._

"Yes," she answers honestly. Probably. Most likely. Eventually.

Definitely.

He straightens his back, almost preening at the answer he receives; his eyes light up against the almost-darkened sky, and she is sure that he even puffs his chest a little bit. "Really?"

Boys.

"Sure," she replies. "If things were -- you know, normal, and we weren't still so . . ." _So hung up on other people,_ she wants to say -- but that's wrong, because she's not hung up on Sam and she is trying her hardest to believe that he's not hung up on Bella.

Who knows. Maybe Jake is trying to believe the same thing about her.

"Yeah," he agrees, like he knows exactly what she's thinking. (She hopes he doesn't.) "This feels pretty normal, though." And as if to emphasise his point, he draws her in impossibly closer underneath his arm.

"Yeah," she echoes softly.

"Leah . . ."

She hears everything with that breath. And she knows that it's now -- she has to do it now. He has been far more patient with her than she deserves, but he won't wait any longer.

"Yeah," she says quietly again, pulling her legs in and tucking her knees close to her chest. "I know."

The arm holding her tenses, the body against hers suddenly rigid, and she thinks he might have stopped breathing altogether. Until he says, unable to conceal his fear, "It's bad, isn't it."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"So you . . . I mean . . . You've decided, then."

Leah looks up at him. "I'm not here to tell you no, Jake." And at the reignited hope which flares in his eyes, the happiness stretching across his cheeks, she adds quickly, "But I don't think I can tell you what to do, either."

He's not surprised. A little self-satisfied with himself, too; he expected this of her. But hope lingers. "I thought as much."

"I can't. That you're supposed to just be okay with whatever I say . . . It doesn't sit right. It's wrong. But I don't want to cause you pain, either. I don't think I can."

"It hurts," he says, understanding washing over his face. "Hurting each other. When I first told you about this -- about Sam and Emily, and you . . ." Jacob trails off, but Leah knows they are both remembering that day. She has to wrap her arms around her knees to stop herself from shuddering. "I was nearly sick, too."

He had known why, though. Had known why that much pain affected him so badly.

Leah wonders if she reacted that way for the same reason. Because it hadn't been wholly about Sam and Emily, the way she'd broken down. She sees it with renewed perspective now. Now that she knows.

Hindsight, she scoffs silently.

"It would be the same even if I ran in the other direction screaming, wouldn't it?" She curses herself for wanting to lean into his blazing heat at the idea of running, of willingly parting herself from him. Her whole body protests at the very thought. "It wouldn't go away -- that feeling. We'd end up here no matter what I told you."

She could fight it. That part comes easy, the fighting, and always has. But she's not foolish enough to believe that she's strong enough to keep it up for the rest of her life. She'd break, eventually. She knows it.

She _could_ fight it. She just doesn't want to.

"That doesn't mean you just have to accept this, Leah." He swallows thickly, and his next words are pained. Forced. He drops his arm. "If you don't want it, then -- maybe -- maybe we could work something out. Work around it. It's not inevitable."

"Is that something you want to try?" she challenges, though the heat she has mastered is lacking. "I was under the impression you wanted this."

He doesn't answer.

"Do you want this, Jake?" Leah asks plainly. He nods. "Will you be in pain if I reject your imprint? With a chance that I might be, too?" He nods, and so does she. "Right. So how can I tell you no, then?"

"But you can. It doesn't matter about me, it's what _you_ want."

"I won't make you suffer."

"You shouldn't have to--" he continues to protest.

"You keep thinking that there's this other decision to make, but there's not!" she snaps, aggravated at his disbelief in her choice. "It will _hurt_ , Jacob, and I am sick of it -- I am just sick to _death_ of being so goddamn miserable all the time. Have you actually considered that I might _want_ to be here? That it's not out of pity, or that I'm not doing this to be all self-sacrificing just so I can save your feelings?"

"You . . . want?"

" _Yes_. I know I'm not so good with the whole speaking from the heart thing, but I thought you'd have at least figured this out by now. We were friends before, weren't we? Family? Why not now?"

He is dumbstruck.

"Finally piecing it together, are you?" Leah shakes her head, half exasperated, half amused. He's told her exactly what he's wanted -- _her_ , twice now -- and yet he's still prepared to fight it. Because he truly believes that what he wants, that _his_ opinion and his choice in this isn't worth a dime. Because he believes _she_ doesn't want _him_ in return _._

One day, she will convince him otherwise. She realised early on that he has only been focused on the two very worst outcomes he can think of: that she will submit -- and only because she feels she has been cornered between two fires; not because she _wants_ to -- or that she will outright reject him and leave him for dust.

It takes him a while to look back over the afternoon and ponder all she has said to him, to pick out certain comments she has made along the way, to read between the blurring lines. Not once has she ever told him _no._

She waits for it to dawn upon him. To really hit him.

And when it does . . .

Jacob blinks, stunned. "You want to be here."

It's suddenly difficult to keep her own breath steady, an effort to crack the pure awe and the raw intensity bleeding out of him as he bows his head down ever closer to hers. So close that his breath skitters against her cheek.

She nods.

"You're sure?"

"Being stuck with you -- that's not so bad," she manages to breathe, still fighting to keep her voice calm and even, because damn her if she spills the contents of her heart to him anymore than she already has. How is it so _easy_ for him to make her anger just vanish like that?

"No. It's not so bad."

Leah hears the smile in his voice and swallows thickly around the rising emotion in her throat, but the action is enough to be able to finally break the building tension. It is who they are. "Could have been worse."

His chuckle masks their entwined crippling relief, but from who exactly it comes from she doesn't know. Maybe both of them. "How so?"

"I could have gotten Paul. Or God forbid, Embry." She bites back a smirk towards the now-dark sea before her. "I'd have headaches for the rest of my life."

Jake presses his forehead against her shoulder, his own shaking with laughter. Still in relief -- and joy, too.

"Quil," he reminds her.

"Hmm -- maybe. I'd probably kill him in the end, though."

"I don't think he'd mind so much," Jacob says, chin lifting to rest upon her shoulder instead. His arms snake around her waist at the same time without thought, just because he knows he can, because he knows that she won't pull away. Everything has snapped into place for him -- and for her.

"No?"

"No," he agrees easily, no hint of jealousy in his tone. "He'd probably enjoy it, coming from you."

"Hmm," she hums again. "Quil, the secret masochist. Who'd have thought. It's always the quiet ones."

Jacob chuckles in her ear. "Gross. I did _not_ need that image."

Leah turns her head and meets him dead-on, their noses almost brushing. She grins wickedly. "Bet you'd enjoy it, too."

Everything she sees tells her that yes, he would. That whatever it is she throws at him, he will not balk.

And for some reason, that means everything.


	29. twenty-eight

_i surrender, i surrender, i surrender  
_ _Phillip LaRue, "Sweet Love"_

* * *

**twenty-eight.**

* * *

_(Leah)_

The piggyback ride Jacob offers her to the shoreline is a compromise: she refuses to be carried bridal-style, and he refuses to let her stumble back across the wet rocks in the dark on her own two feet.

"You could just hold onto my hand," she argues half-heartedly from behind him, her slight exasperation entirely put-upon as her hands reach over his shoulder blades. "You know, like a normal person."

Jacob hoists her up in one fluid motion without warning, fingers curling into the backs of her thighs. Her breath catches, and she knows he hears it. Knows that he is smiling as he says, "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you were scared."

She locks her arms and legs around him, trying not to focus on how his hands are close to cupping her ass whilst also pretending that her heart isn't beating out right out of her chest.

"Scared," she ridicules. It's a vain attempt, she knows.

"I am," he admits, staring into the quiet dark. The last of the orange rays have faded, though it can't be much past six in the evening, and there are no lights emitting from the beach houses. The darkness seems to stretch before them, endless and inviting.

The day feels like it has barely begun. She doesn't want it to end. Not just yet.

"Why?" She tilts her head to better see his face that is now level with her own. And when he turns to meet her probing eyes over his shoulder, he looks a little sheepish.

"What? I'm not going to fall -- not unless you drop me."

His hold on her tightens, indignant and maybe offended. "I wouldn't."

"So there's nothing to be worried about."

"Isn't there?"

He looks so unconvinced, so unhappy with himself that it tears at her, and she instinctively finds herself leaning into him. Her nose pokes the side of his cheek, her forehead pushing against his temple, braver than she has been since getting into the car. "Don't be scared."

Jacob returns the soothing pressure, sighing deeply. "I can't help it. You saw how I was when you got too close to the edge, when you pretended to--" He takes another shuddering lungful of air, releases it slower than before. "Fucking scared me. _Scares_ me. All the time."

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, more meaningfully this time as genuine guilt begins to work its way in. She had recognised that compulsive need of his to keep her safe at all costs, no matter how small or ridiculous, and she had laughed in his face.

"Don't be." He pulls away, shaking his head -- at himself. "If I was less mental, I would have laughed. Honestly, it's fine."

Her remorse eases, turning rueful. "Well. It _was_ funny. And it's exactly not your fault your sense of humour has dried up."

Jacob chokes a strained laugh, torn between amusement and stress, and he starts walking back towards the beach. His strides are light and careful, and his hold on her does not ease up but she doesn't mind it so much; she accepted this when she accepted the imprint -- this intense connection between them that they are still learning to navigate.

She doesn't resent it.

"I _am_ sorry," she presses. "I wanted to make this easier for you, not harder."

"It's not you," he promises earnestly. "I just need to get a better handle on it."

Leah frowns. "That doesn't seem fair. I mean, you always talk like _I'm_ the one getting the shit end of the deal but you're the one who has to go through all this . . ."

"It's just different now, that's all. I wasn't joking when I said I'd go crazy. Don't get me wrong, I was kind of losing it already. This morning . . . S'pose that's why I went and . . . Anyway." Jake clears his throat, banishing the words. "It's just different," he says again, "but I'll get used to it. It'll be fine."

But he wouldn't have to get _used_ _to it_ , not if he hadn't been working himself up to another outcome . . .

It's her own fault, for dragging it out so long. For pretending like she had a choice at all. No, she doesn't resent it, really she doesn't -- she _wants_ this, but still she curses herself for being so goddamned stubborn.

"What can I do?"

"Be patient with me, please. Going off the other guys' experiences, I expect I'll be a bit annoying while everything settles down. So . . . sorry, in advance. I'd like to think that I can keep my head screwed on a bit more than they can around their mates, but I'll still probably have a hard time letting you out of my sight for a few days," he says apologetically.

"That doesn't seem so bad. We have the bonfire on Saturday, right? It'll be me who won't be letting _you_ out of _my_ sight."

There's no 'probably' about it for her; there is no chance in burning hell that she is going to sit with -- with _them._

Jacob hums. "That'll make it easier. You being around the pack so early on might get a little -- uhm, well, dicey to be honest. Jared nearly took a whole chunk out of Paul when he introduced Kim for the first time . . . Not that _I_ cared. Still. It would have been far worse if you'd told me no, so at least there's that. Silver linings, right?"

He says it so easily, shrugging as if his ordeal means nothing at all. Again, thinking that he does not matter -- that his wants and needs do not matter. And it's _really_ starting to grate.

"How bad?" she asks softly. "How bad would it have been for you?"

His nails dig in through her jeans as he grips her thighs harder. "I don't want to think about it."

She lets the question go before the anxiety riding its way up her spine can hold her captive. The emotion belongs wholly to her -- to her half of the imprint -- and it takes a long minute of holding herself closer against Jacob's solid warmth before she's able to shake her agitation off entirely, to stop imagining what might have been.

It's a long minute before he relaxes, too. She wonders if he is imagining the same thing.

By the time they're breathing in sync, calm and centred again, Jacob skips off the breakwater and back down onto the sand. Leah automatically loosens her arms around his neck--

A hand flies up and holds her wrist captive. "Where are you going?"

Familiar indignation rises, although (for what might be the first time in her whole life) she makes a conscious effort to pull it back in. "I can take care of myself, you know. That involves walking unaided."

"You're rolling your eyes, aren't you?" He twists round and catches her in the act -- but at least he is smiling again, so she can't be too annoyed with him. "Knew it."

She rolls them again, if only so she can be rewarded with another sunny smile. "When you said _annoying_ . . ."

His expression morphs seamlessly into a grin of impudence. "You can't say you weren't warned."

She pokes her tongue out at him, pointedly ignoring any smug or triumphant looks when she loops her arms back around his neck and not-so-grudgingly allows him to continue on to the car.

* * *

_(Jacob)_

In spite of the unrelenting terror he feels, there is euphoria too. It pumps in his veins, fuelling his every step to the point he could be walking on air and wouldn't even notice.

It'll last for the rest of the month, this feeling. Maybe even his whole life. But he'll take it -- every howl of fear and possessiveness and desire from his wolf, every wave of elation that sends his knees wobbling -- because she is here, and she is with him. Because she _wants_ to be here with him, and she has _chosen_ him.

Leah presses her warm cheek against ear, and he knows that she is smiling again, too. Neither of them can seem to stop, and if they do it is not for long.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Your dad," she says. And hearing his confused silence, she explains, "He, uh -- welcomed me into the family, earlier."

Unsurprised at his father's forwardness, Jacob scoffs. "He's likely been dying to say that since he found out. Pay no attention to him."

"No, I liked it," she insists, and the pure sincerity in her voice leaves Jacob wanting to kiss her. _Again_. "It was . . . nice. I mean, you guys have always been family, but it's like you said. It's different now, isn't it? It _felt_ different, anyway. Like something new."

His fingers twitch against her jeans, unable to care less about remembering to rein in his possession. "We're not kids anymore."

Leah cocks her head, angling her broad smile directly at him, radiant and so beautiful he stops breathing for a second or two. "Aren't we? I'm not so sure Rach and Beck will feel the same, when they find out."

"Good thing they can't find out then," he retorts, thinking of Rachel's temper especially.

"Well, we'll have to tell them _something_." Leah settles back against him, tilting her head against his and shifting her ankles against his hips. "I do talk to them still. Sometimes, anyway, when they're not so busy. But even if I don't tell them, then you know as well as I do that Billy will let something purposefully slip."

"He'll only do it to see if they'd come home."

She sighs, a little forlorn. She misses the twins as much as he does; he feels the pang of longing in his gut as if it were his own. "I don't care what he tells them if it means we can see them."

"Even if he says we're -- y'know. Dating?"

"S'pose that's what we'll have to tell everyone else who doesn't know the truth," she replies, unconcerned, and Jacob tries his damned hardest to not let his elation show at that. "But your sisters are going to think I've corrupted you or something. God knows what I'd say if someone two or three years older than Seth started showing interest."

"Big whoop," he drawls. "Three years."

"Seth is fourteen, Jake," she admonishes.

"That's different. You're eighteen -- you're an adult."

"I'm nearly nineteen."

"And I'm nearly seventeen. In like . . . ten months." He squeezes her leg. "I thought we went over this. It's really not a big deal."

Leah groans quietly in his ear, probably rolling her eyes yet again and wholly unaware of the shivers cascading over the back of his neck at the sound. "You're impossible."

"You're learning, at least."

"Shut up, Jacob," she says, but she laughs as she does, and it sounds kind of fond. He totally counts that as a win.

* * *

The Rabbit's dash reads eight-thirteen when he parks it at the end of the Clearwaters' drive and sees Seth step out of the front door, almost as though he has been waiting for them.

The kid has filled out some since he phased -- two weeks ago, now -- but he still looks odd in his new body, still wiry and gangly and uncoordinated as he lopes down the path towards the car.

At a glance, he could almost be mistaken for one of the older members of the pack, his muscles purposefully on show and his chest puffed out . . . That is, until Jacob studies the boy's face some more and it becomes noticeable that Seth is struggling to keep a hard mask in place. Like he's putting on an act, and trying his best to not let it slip.

Leah stares at her brother. "What in the name of . . . Who the hell is he pretending to be?"

Jacob realises what is about to happen, chuckling under his breath. "I think I'm finally about to get the Talk."

There hadn't been much conversation back in the forest, back when the kid had taken it upon himself to deliver that rucksack of food and water. During all of his three visits, Seth had simply joined him in silence until it was his turn to patrol again -- returning the favour, Jacob had realised afterwards, for when _he_ had sat with him all those times at the cave, waiting until he was ready.

Leah unbuckles her seatbelt and opens her door with a dramatic sigh, swinging her legs out. She looks up at her brother. "Are you really doing this?"

"Yep," is all she receives by way of a reply.

He crosses his arms over his chest and waits for Jacob to get out of the car, who struggles to refrain from smirking when they face each other half a minute later and Leah comes to stand at his side.

Seth's gaze flickers between them. "You two sorted things out?"

Jacob nods. Beside him, Leah covers her laugh with a poorly feigned cough that only turns more forceful when he nudges her shoulder in reprimand. If she loses it, then he knows he will not be far behind her. And Seth is trying _so_ hard.

The kid jerks his chin up in some semblance of a nod. "Right. So now that you two are . . ." He frowns a little, looking unsurely between them. "Uh. Are you?"

Leah reaches for Jacob's hand at the same time he reaches for hers, as if to say _yes, we are._

Seth's eyes go wide with excitement, the act of the protective sibling suddenly dropped. "Really? You are?"

Jacob's grin shines on her brother -- their brother -- until Seth remembers himself. It's almost comical how quickly clears his throat and sets his back straight.

"I mean . . . Fine. Great. Leah, can you give us a minute?"

She finally gives in to her laughter. "No way. I want to see this."

Heat suffuses the kid's face, his pride in danger of being bruised, but he manages to keep in character. Jacob thinks it's kind of admirable.

"One minute," Seth says, staring her down. The silent _please_ tacked onto the end of the sentence couldn't be louder than if he'd actually said it.

"Honestly," she sighs, but apparently she's willing to indulge him, and she squeezes Jacob's fingers before untangling them.

He is fighting his own amusement when she suddenly stretches up on her toes and kisses the underside of his jaw, which is about as far as her lips can reach, and says, "Be good," in the sweetest voice before skipping into the house. As if it's the most normal thing in the world. As if she just hasn't . . .

Her stares after her, frozen.

When the door shuts and he turns back to Seth, gaping, the kid has dropped all pretence and is practically bouncing on his feet with glee.

He punches Jacob's arm, beaming. "I'm happy for you, man."

"Uh--"

"If she asks," Seth continues cheerfully, "I threatened to hurt you if you hurt her. And then you said something like, _'She doesn't need anyone to defend her honour,'_ \-- because she likes that stuff -- and then we agreed we had an understanding and left it there, yeah?"

"Uh," says Jacob again, feeling dumber by the minute. "Sure."

"Thanks." He looks relieved. "I owe you one."

Little punk. "You weren't actually going to give me a speech, were you?"

Seth's eyeroll is the exact same as his sister's. "Come on, I'm not stupid. The guys would rib me for days if I even tried." He slings an arm over his shoulder, eyes glinting with his usual boyish playfulness. "I better warn you that Mom's got her own speech planned, though, in case you plan on coming in."

Jacob gulps.

And indeed, the first chance Sue gets -- when Leah is upstairs changing, and Seth is sprawled out in front of the television in the next room -- she puts her hands on her hips and looks at him with a glint of fire-tempered steel in her eyes, the likes of which he has not seen before Harry died.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you what happens if she gets hurt, Jacob. Imprint or not. Because once she's done with you, there won't be many pieces left for me to break. But so help me God, I'll still try."

Jacob wills himself to stand tall and hold the woman's gaze. The Clearwater women have always scared the living shit out of him, but he'll be damned if he cowers now. "Yes, ma'am."

Sue nods, satisfied. Then she breaks into a smile. "Good. Now, I'm kind of behind on dinner but if you'd like to stay then you better call Billy and invite him too. Tell him I said no arguments. You know he doesn't eat right unless he's backed into a corner."

"Yes, ma'am," he says again.

From where she is undoubtedly at the top of the stairs and straining her ears to eavesdrop, Jacob swears that he hears Leah laugh.


	30. twenty-nine

_hanging by a thread / hold me in your arms, where everything made sense  
_ _Keane, "Thread"_

* * *

**twenty-nine.**

* * *

_(Jacob)_

The newest member of the pack always has the honour of lighting the bonfire — a tradition which dates back all of three months — meaning that of course it is Quil who almost completely burns off his eyebrows, no thanks to the obscene amount of fluid Paul dumped on the firewood.

What's probably even funnier, though, is the litany of black obscenities that escape his mouth, all said in front of his grandfather whose swift hand has Quil running faster than he jumped back from the flames.

They're mostly all in attendance, the pack and the Elders together as they are every time their numbers increase. Only the Clearwaters and Embry are missing, otherwise it likely would have been Seth who nearly went up in flames. Sue had insisted yesterday that she would be arriving with her family, and the Clearwaters are _never_ early (Harry was notorious for it), while Embry's mom has probably buried his body in the woods somewhere like she has been threatening to for weeks now.

They've all tried to convince Sam to let Tiffany Call in on the secret at one point or another, but their Alpha flat-out refuses. And, surprisingly, Embry agrees with him, insisting that the secret is too important. His mom would only freak out and ship him off to a military camp. What's a little shouting, after all, when he gets to be a part of something so amazing?

That's what _he_ says, anyway.

Personally Jacob thinks his best friend is saving face, but he knows better than to call him out on it.

His foot twitches anxiously as he waits for Embry to make an appearance. And waits. He waits for Sam to approach him (because it's bound to happen); he waits for the guys to start throwing a variety of _Looks_ in his direction (which Paul has started doing already, all as dirty and violent as Quil's mouth — but Jake is used to that). He waits for Leah to arrive safe and sound and whole.

It's maddening.

Since their excursion to Pillar Point three days ago, Leah has been giving him free passes to be a tetchy son of a bitch (honestly, he will never deserve her), but still he has been struggling to get himself in order. The wolf is _dying_ to see her; it practically howls like a puppy with separation anxiety if more than a few hours pass without having her within its senses.

Maddening. Pathetic.

He only saw her this morning. He left her at lunch. Six hours, forty-four minutes and — no, forty- _five_ minutes ago _—_

Fuck, he needs professional help. He's going insane _._

This afternoon has been a test, of sorts, to keep their distance from one another. He's hated every second of it.

He knows it's the imprint that is exacerbating every feeling usually considered unhealthy in a relationship because it has been accepted, but it's also smothering every feeling that should be normal. And he's not one of _those_ guys, he's not, but — _shit._ How the hell is he supposed to function like this?

He's glad that Leah never asked him what he _really_ thought the reason for imprinting was. She hadn't seemed to notice that he'd not answered her question properly. If she had pressed him, he would have said that he thinks — _thought_ — it made the wolves better. That it's not about pedigree or reproducing the next generation of protectors, but about what they need to be the best protectors they could be.

How is this _better_?

He would have argued that when the pack had taken down that bloodsucker in the meadow, Sam and Jared had fought the best. Five against one hadn't been much of a challenge, anyway, but the rest of them hadn't had a look-in compared to those two. They were the most focused, the most determined. The whole thing had been over barely a minute after they'd caught up to it.

Jacob almost laughs at himself, scornful. If he came across the redheaded bitch now, he's not sure he'd live to tell the tale. He's too out of sorts.

It doesn't help that he's not phased since what Billy now jokingly refers to as _Motorbikegate._ Charlie hasn't called the house since, or come to visit, though Billy doesn't seem too bothered by that; they always patch things up in the end. Besides, Charlie has probably been too busy guarding the door with his gun to spare a hand and pick up the phone anyway.

Really, it's a crying shame bullets bounce right off the leeches. Jacob thinks he would have quite enjoyed that image, otherwise.

He hasn't yet spoken to Sam about confronting Cullen. Jared and Quil had been on duty when he'd phased afterwards, and they would have undoubtedly spilled the beans straight away — but given the way Sam is now staring at him over the roaring flames, Jacob has a suspicion that something is going to be said about it sooner or later. The conversation (or rather, the reprimand) will probably start with something like, _"Jacob, what right do you think you have . . ."_

If Embry were here, Jake would suggest putting a bet on it.

He pointedly ignores the Alpha's sharp gaze and looks for the next best thing.

When he whistles sharply, all eyes immediately turn on him — likely surprised that he's cut his brooding short and is interacting with them again; they've all been talking in low whispers around him, throwing furtive glances — but it's Quil's attention he is asking for.

Jacob beckons him on over. Quil is still seemingly avoiding his grandfather at all costs, going as far to sit with a loved-up Jared and Kim, and he looks grateful for a reason to excuse himself — even if he does approach with a kind of hesitancy that makes Jacob's insides curl with guilt when he remembers that he hasn't seen Quil since the day his friend joined the pack. Since they all found out that he imprinted on Leah.

"Hey, man," his friend says a little nervously when he finally gets close enough. "What's up?"

Jake forces a smile. "Still got your eyebrows?"

Quil theatrically pats his hand over his face. "Last I checked. How do I look?"

"As ugly as ever," he replies, jesting, and his friend returns his smile. "You seen Embry around lately?"

"Yeah. Last night, on patrol."

Quil drops down to sit beside him on the ground. He leans against the back of the log seat, relaxing and stretching his legs out. It has never been hard to fall back into an easy rhythm with Quil, no matter what might have happened between them. He's too easy-going, too carefree, forever living for the moment. The grudge he'd had against them for leaving him behind was probably the first he'd ever held in his life.

"You think he got caught again?"

Jacob smirks. "Oh, no doubt about it."

"You wanna go get him? Gramps isn't going to start for a while yet."

"And miss your first official bonfire? Nah. Em will turn up sooner or later. He's probably just waiting until his mom's looking in the other direction."

"I guess," Quil says, shrugging. He turns hesitant again. "What about you? How are you doing?"

It is Jacob's turn to shrug. "Aside from everyone talking about me like I can't hear them? While that one—" he nods in Paul's direction "—looks like he wants to kill me? I'm great. Couldn't be having a better time," he prattles on over Quil's sniggering. "It's not a good day if Paul doesn't threaten me at least twice."

Paul's head jerks up at the sound of his name, pulling him out of conversation with Sam. His eyes narrow as his gaze fixes itself dangerously upon them, and he flicks his fingers up in a vulgar gesture.

As if for good measure, to prove his point, he drags them slowly across his throat.

Jacob disregards him with a simple look back to Quil. Nothing annoys Paul more than being dismissed.

"See? Everything's normal."

Quil covers his smile with a hand, pretending that he's got an itch at the corner of his lips.

It isn't until he's sure that Paul has turned back to his conversation with Sam that he says, sarcastic, "I'm not sure if you're aware, but he kind of hates you, you know."

"No, really?"

"Don't tell him I told you so, but he's waiting for you to come back so he can kick your sorry ass." Quil allows a beat of silence. "And I've kind of already put ten bucks down. So you've gotta win or else we'll never hear the end of it."

That perks Jacob's interest. "Awesome. Who's bet against me?"

"Just Paul," Quil says, and they both laugh as loud as they dare. "He's betting that you'll be back on patrol by the end of the week — so, tomorrow — and that he'll have taken a chunk out of you an hour later. Nobody else fights with him like you do, apparently."

"You think he'd have learned by now," Jacob muses idly. He has won every single fight he's ever had with Paul. It's almost like child's play; Paul's unchecked temper gets in the way every single time, always making him lose focus.

"You think," Quil scoffs. "So . . . does that mean you're coming back then? For real? I mean, Sam seems to think it's pretty permanent, you leaving, but he's still not replaced you as Second. Not officially, anyway. Jared's only acting up until he's told otherwise."

"What's he waiting for?"

"Dunno. Suppose he wants to know that you're sure before he changes things up, I guess."

Jacob hums noncommittally. "I told him I'd be out as soon as I can manage it. When that will be . . ." He shrugs. "I'm only managing a week at most. I suppose until the Cullens break the treaty I won't be able to—"

A loud whoop fills the evening air, cutting him off, and Jacob's head snaps round at the same time as Quil's to see Embry finally entering the fray, all smiles as he announces himself and begins making the rounds to say hello to everyone. He bumps fists with Sam, Paul and Jared in turn, shakes the hands of Old Quil and Billy, and throws disarming smiles to Emily (who rolls her eyes, an image of the long-suffering) and Kim (who blushes fiercely and shrinks into Jared, the shyest person Jacob has met in his whole life to date). But they all smile back at him, every single one of them here present; Embry is a real people-person — more so than he ever was before phasing, entirely confident in his new body and status within the pack.

"What's up, losers?" he greets Jacob and Quil, grinning down at them once he lopes over to where they are sitting a ways from the rest of the group. "Jeez, you look freakin' _miserable,_ dude."

"We were actually just enjoying the peace and quiet," Jacob drawls sardonically. "Who invited you?"

Embry's grin stretches impossibly wider. "I see _you're_ still a total asshole. Imprint rubbing you up the wrong way, man?"

The hiss that comes from Quil beside him is low and full of warning as Jacob goes rigid. "Embry."

"What? I'm just saying. Maybe Leah could rub me—"

That does it.

Jacob jumps to his feet, fist flying — but Embry dodges it with preternatural speed, laughing all the while.

Quil hauls himself up, lunging to hold one friend back while he glares at the other. "What the _fuck_ are you playing at, Embry?"

"Come on, Jake," Embry taunts, ignoring Quil as he dances on his feet, positioning his hands, "you can do better than that! Give it all you got. No phasing, though," he adds quickly, "'cos we can't be having you all worked up and naked when your girlfriend gets here, or else you might start humping her leg—"

Jacob's fist finally hits its mark, his movements too wild and unpredictable to be restrained, and he and Embry go down in a tangle of muscled arms and legs.

He doesn't know who realises it first — him, or Quil, or the rest of the pack, who are all on their feet and now watching carefully, or even the Elders who sigh in complete exasperation — but as Embry laughs again and spits blood, Jacob understands exactly what he's been goaded into.

He's never been more grateful for being so stupid _._ Because Embry recognised the strain he was carrying from not phasing for so long, recognised the disquiet on his face, the agitation that he was about to be introducing his imprint into the pack for the first time, and decided to be the one to help take the edge off that coiled-up energy when nobody else would.

Jake sees Quil walk away in his peripheral, shaking his head, wholly resigned to the fact his best friends are total idiots and that the easiest thing to do is to leave them to it. And he thinks there is a reason that, if he ever took Alpha, Embry would be his Second and Quil his third: the two of them balance each other out perfectly.

But then his head knocks to the side, missing the log he'd been leaning back on by an inch, and Embry just keeps — on — fucking — _laughing_ at him.

Jacob snarls, releasing all that he can, and he leaps.

* * *

_(Leah)_

The awful and crippling anxiety she's felt all day at the thought of having to come to this complete shit-show of a powwow distorts into undiluted horror when Quil reveals where Jacob is and what exactly it is he's doing.

She gasps. _"Fighting?"_

"They've been at it for, like, half an hour," Quil tells her, but he doesn't look all that concerned. He shrugs, waving cheerfully at Seth who is seamlessly integrating himself into the group.

Her baby brother has been welcomed like a hero — like he truly belongs. Sue, on the other hand, looks exactly how Leah feels. Uncomfortable, out of place, lost without Harry, wondering why in the name of all that's holy she has agreed to come. She is so obviously re-evaluating her decision to take his place on the Council that Old Quil literally has to usher her into the chair they've reserved for her at the head of the makeshift circle.

Quil turns away from the scene, the smile he'd thrown Seth still on his face, oblivious to how Leah has been gaping at him in her disbelief.

"You wanna get a hotdog?" he asks.

_"Why?"_

"They're really good. I've had four already," he says. And at her incensed groan that follows, he blinks. Sighs. "Oh. You mean Jake. Don't ask me — I'm not getting involved. I'm not putting any bets down, either; I'm already out ten bucks until Jake fights Paul next."

Leah gapes at Quil, her anxiety now at its peak. "What do you mean, until he fights with Paul _next?!_ What the hell have _they_ got to fight over?"

Quil shrugs again. "Don't need a reason, those two. S'just what they do. So I'm told, anyway." He glances at the fire and back, at the occupants surrounding it. "You wanna sit with me? There's a couple of spaces by your mom, away from . . . Oh, come on Leah. Look, Jake's _fine_. I'm pretty sure you'd know if something major happened — you imprint people are weird like that. Just come sit down, will ya'?"

"I think I'll wait here, thanks," she tells him stubbornly, crossing her arms. She stares across the field, towards the trees as if she might be able to see two wolves, bloodied and bruised and spitting fur. She can't _believe_ they're fighting — of all people, Jacob and Embry!

Or . . . maybe she can. Hadn't Embry told her how mad everyone apparently is with Jake? She just never thought that _he_ would be the one to actually do something about it. He and Jake have been best friends for as long as they've been able to walk.

"Fine," Quil says, ever-insolent. "Then I'll wait with you."

She tucks her arms in tighter, and nods once. "Fine."

"Oh, jeez. Yeah, you're Jacob's imprint alright," he snickers, poking her shoulder playfully. "You're _just_ like him — annoying as hell."

At the cutting glare she shoots him, Quil quickly raises his hands, palms splayed, and ever so subtly leans backwards. Out of her way.

Leah harrumphs in satisfaction at the sight of his surrender, and resumes her lookout.

"Meaner, though," he mutters after she looks away, and she almost laughs.

Almost. She'd forgotten how ballsy the guy is.

They wait in silence, Quil entirely at ease whilst her heart pounds a frightful rhythm . . . until finally, finally she finally sees the boys emerging some very long and painful minutes later.

She watches as they shove each other, smiling. As if their faces are not littered with cuts and scrapes and already-blooming dark bruises. As if there is not blood scattered all over Jacob's jaw, his lips, all the way down his neck, caking his clothes . . .

Her head goes quiet.

Jacob. Jacob is _hurt._

She blindly starts towards him, towards Embry who she is going to _murder_ , she is going to _kill_ him with her bare fucking hands, but Quil puts a hand on her shoulder to hold her back.

He ignores her outrage. "Wait," he murmurs, eyes assessing.

Embry reaches them first, his smile threatening to cleave through his already split lips. And without so much as a _hello,_ he holds out his bloodied hand. Waiting, expectant.

She bats Embry's hand away. It's only the heavy weight of Quil's hand still on her shoulder that keeps her from clawing at his face, more than ready and willing to bestow him some new gauges along his cheeks. How _dare_ he—

"Aw, don't be like that," he whines. "I know how it looks, but we weren't really fighting, and he hurt me far more than I hurt him. Really. It looks worse than it is; he's already stopped bleeding, and the swelling will be gone in an hour." He wiggles his fingers in her face as she shoots Jacob another glance as it confirm all of this, blocking her view. "Come on."

She snaps at his hand. With her _teeth._ "Go to hell, Embry. _"_

"Come on," he says again, pleading now. "Do the thing with me. I just want to test something, then you can shout at me, I swear. Or are you too much of a chickenshit?"

"I'm not doing the thing with you—"

Embry, the bastard, starts clucking. He tucks his hands into his armpits, raising his elbows . . .

She has never been one to flake out on a challenge — she is no coward — and Jacob looks like he's steady on his feet . . . He's not in danger of bleeding out, anyway . . . "Fine! _Fine!_ If it will shut you up! I'll do the fucking thing with you! And then I'm going to _kill_ you, you bastard. Call me chickenshit then."

Embry is beaming when she viciously launches into making a series of elaborate movements with her hands, almost perfectly in sync with his despite her bubbling rage. He keeps up with her easily, practically overjoyed that he's won.

It goes on for an age, longer than she remembers practicing on Second Beach for; it involves fingers twisting, fists bumping, hands slapping, elbows knocking — and then, for their final flourish, she jumps to meet her right hip with Embry's, who oh-so generously bends his knees to compensate for the height difference between them.

Asshole.

He punches the air in celebration, offering her a high-five with the same hand in his pure glee that they have managed the whole sequence without faltering once (which she pointedly punches, smack into the middle of his palm, though he doesn't seem to realise the difference). "That was _awesome_! Best we've ever done it!"

"Since when have you two had a secret handshake?" Quil demands, indignant.

"I'll teach you," Embry promises him. "You're in the club."

Quil stands taller, slightly mollified. "I am?"

"Yep — but we're not telling you what it's about in front of any Muggles, 'cos _he's_ not invited," Embry says, turning to Jake — whose eyebrows are drawn together, eyes narrowed, but otherwise doesn't say anything about what he's just witnessed.

After a moment of consideration, Embry seems to be satisfied with what he finds in Jacob's features — with whatever it is that he was looking for — and slaps his shoulder.

Leah flinches in spite of her anger, expecting to feel pain from the sheer force he puts behind the action.

"Alright," he declares. "You're good."

He grins at Jacob, and winks at her, the both of them shooting him daggers despite him not giving them any indication that he notices. And then to Quil, he says, "Come on — I'm hungry. Leave them alone."

Quil looks slightly affronted, the words as readable on his face as if he said them: _he_ hadn't been the one who was doing anything or bothering anyone. If Jacob had not been standing in front of her, battered to a pulp, Leah might have very well smiled at him for it.

As it is, she and Jake end up staring at each other. Gazes roving, taking stock, checking that the other is alive and breathing.

Jacob stands easier now that Embry and Quil are out of sight, and he doesn't look ashamed, or guilty, but he does offer an apologetic half-smile as if he's been caught doing something that he shouldn't have been. The expression takes her back ten years.

She swallows her anger, if only so she can ask: "Are you okay?"

And when he nods, something eases inside of her just enough to be able to jerk a nod in return. She's still a heartbeat away from freaking out at the bloody sight of him; it goes against the grain to know that he is injured and that she can do nothing about it. It makes her want to scream, to hit something.

"Okay," she says, too shakily for her own liking. "Are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to tell me why you and my best friend have a secret handshake?" he counters.

She blinks. "It wasn't _my_ idea."

"Well neither was this," he says, gesturing at himself.

"Embry," they say together — she as if the name is an expletive, and Jacob as if it's an explanation.

He smiles, tentatively stepping closer towards her. "Are _you_ okay?"

"I—"

Leah stops, pressing her lips together. No. No, she's not okay. Jacob looks like he's gone nine rounds, and even though he's healing right before her eyes, his bruises changing colour in the firelight so bright behind them that it stretches to all corners of the recreation grounds, she is . . . _unbalanced_ at the sight of him. It doesn't help that she's felt his absence all afternoon like she might a missing limb because they've spent so much time together since Wednesday that it's been near enough a damn culture shock to be without him.

Never mind that she's hardly been sleeping, either, unable to shut her eyes until she's near-dead and flat on her face from exhaustion. Even then, it's uneasy rest; she keeps waking with the sheets tangled in her legs and sweat coating every inch of her body.

She shakes her head. She will not cry. She will not cry.

"Oh, honey." Jacob crosses the distance between them in half a second and gathers her up in his arms, almost lifting her from her feet. "I'm fine, really. Embry was just . . . helping, believe it or not. I missed you. I'm fine."

Leah squeezes her eyes shut and buries her face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder. It's almost embarrassing how quickly her breathing evens out, how much better she feels already. She's not used to being so . . . so _reliant_ on someone, to _needing_ someone so badly that she can hardly get through a single fucking afternoon without them.

"I'm fine," Jacob continues saying into her hair, soft and low and sweet, his woodsy scent calming. She breathes him in. "It's just the imprint. I feel it, too. That's why he had to beat some sense into me — had to take the edge off before I killed someone. I was being an asshole."

They stand like that for several minutes, until eventually she is able to release his dirty shirt from her tight fists and doesn't feel like she's in danger of crying like a little bitch anymore.

Jacob lifts his head and rests his chin on top of hers, a pleasant and reassuring weight. He sighs. "We're being summoned."

She feels herself go tense again. "Are they all looking?" she mumbles against him.

"Yep." His lips pop. "Well, most of them. They're all doing a pretty bad job pretending that they're not, but they are. It was the same before you got here."

"Great."

Leah takes a deep breath before pulling away, and though Jacob keeps his hands linked at her lower back he relaxes enough so she can move freely. She doesn't dare look over her shoulder.

His own gaze is searching. "Ready?"

She rubs her face, steeling herself, because she has been dreading this — sitting with them, talking with them, knowing that Sam and Emily are going to be there and that her mom is going to be sitting where her dad is supposed to be sitting. Knowing that they are all going to be _looking_ at her and—

Jacob softens. "We don't have to do this."

Leah knows with complete certainty that he would leave with her if she asked. He would do it without question, but she shakes her head and straightens her spine.

She tells herself once more that she is no coward, and she plasters on her best look of determination. "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?"

Jacob's grin is blinding. He squeezes her middle and drops a kiss to her head.

"That's my girl."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I've been on a massive ACOTAR bend lately with the new release and was inspired by the fight scene in ACOMAF. If you know, you know, but if you don't, and you're into YA high fantasy, I recommend putting it on your to-read lists.


	31. thirty

_the end is unknown / but i think i'm ready / as long as you're with me  
_ _The xx, "Angels"_

* * *

 **thirty** _._

* * *

_(Leah)_

As Leah enters the circle around the fire, she is aware of every single gaze upon her. But she keeps her head up, her back straight, and pretends that she does not notice.

She pretends that she does not see the way they are all on the edge of their seats and holding their breath, watching her closely as she passes them, waiting for her next move. Because she knows they saw it — all of it, every moment from when she'd arrived until now, and she silently dares just one person to say a single word about what has been unfolding before their eyes. Dares them to say a single word about her.

(She almost wishes that they would, just so she has a reason to snap at them the same way she snapped at Embry's hand.)

Jacob gives her fingers a comforting squeeze as if he knows, as if he understands, and it is with that reassurance she keeps her chin high and allows him to guide her into the only empty seat left — a gap between Quil and Embry, just as if they have both been saving the spot on their bench solely for her.

Quil is stone-faced, monitoring the silent crowd at her back, assessing again, whilst Embry holds out a welcoming arm that he drapes over her shoulders the second Jacob lets go of her hand and she takes her place. And though neither boy gives any obvious kind of indication that they have heard her thundering heartbeat, she could swear that — as if by some unspoken agreement — they both subtly shuffle nearer and close any holes in their defence.

Quil and Embry have both become her friends in these past few weeks. Her true friends. They are the reason the two cracks in her chest left by Rachel and Rebecca no longer hurt as much.

Neither of them seem to pay Jacob any attention as their friend looms over her, making sure that she is alright (Leah would call it fussing, but she secretly enjoys it far too much). Quil simply maintains his watch, guarding her as stalwartly as Embry is.

The gratitude she feels for them in that moment is near-crippling.

She still hasn't so much as looked up to check how her mom is coping in case she accidentally catches somebody else's eye and loses her dinner, but she has a feeling the pack are still watching the scene play out between her and Jacob, between the two of them and his best friends who are a solid wall either side of her.

The tension around them is almost stifling, suffocating, and it makes Leah wonder just how badly it must have gone the last time an imprint had been introduced to the pack if they are _this_ tense. Bad enough that Paul and Jared had gotten into it over Kim . . .

In spite of their closeness, the boys can do nothing to soothe the sudden spike of panic that courses through her when she belatedly realises that there is nowhere for Jacob to sit as near as she needs him to be. But before that panic can take root, her wolf gently nudges her legs apart with his knees and settles on the ground between her feet, apparently content with the arrangement.

She doesn't mind it so much, either. Especially not when Jacob tilts his head back against her stomach to look up at her, his sunny upside-down grin a little too devil-may-care for the situation, and it's so . . . so utterly _Jacob_ that she thinks she could kiss him for the tiny bit of normalcy he offers.

Leah scrunches her nose back at him, her hard shell softening as he leans on her. He is almost entirely at ease, hopefully in no danger of losing his cool tonight.

She probably could kiss Embry and Quil, too, if Jacob wouldn't rip their heads off for it. If she didn't still want to rip Embry's head off herself for the bruises still adorning Jacob's face and the blood dried into his shirt. She hasn't quite forgiven him for it yet — even if he was supposed to be 'helping' and is currently acting as one half of a perfect buffer between her and the rest of the group. Between Sam and her cousin, who she has no intention of speaking to tonight.

Not for the rest of her life, if she can manage it.

Someone clears their throat from across the fire, and Leah finally dares look up to see that it is Billy who commands their attention.

The Chief sits between her mother and Old Quil, his deep-set eyes dancing in the firelight as he looks around the gathered circle. He sends her small but encouraging smile when his gaze falls on her, a fleeting signal of support — the only slip in his otherwise business-like appearance — and she feels momentarily bolstered by it. He knows just as well as anyone else that she does not want to be here.

Leah doesn't look away from his weathered face as he begins talking. Because Billy is not wrong — she does not want to be here.

It feels awful to be gathered like this without her father. She can hardly stand to think of it. Can hardly stand to think of him, especially right now.

As if in response to the all-too familiar wave of grief, her hands seem to reach out of their own accord and fall on Jacob's shoulders — seeking out the only right thing in her world. Her thumbs brush the back of his neck, causing him to visibly shiver underneath her touch, but she can't be sorry for it when the contact grounds her so.

She'll use whatever she can to get herself through this. Even if it does make her look a little clingy.

"The Quileutes have been a small people from the beginning," Billy starts, satisfied by the fallen silence around him. "And we remain a small people still, but we have never disappeared. For as long as magic lives in our blood, so will we.

"It happened long ago that Q'waeti bestowed us this magic. He had journeyed for many years beforehand, instructing any people he found and all who would later come in the future, teaching them how they should act, showing them how to build their homes. How to hunt, to fish. He went on and on until he reached the Quileute land, and found it empty save for the two wolves he saw.

"Q'waeti transformed the wolves into people. He told them, 'The Quileute shall be brave, because you come from wolves. In every manner, you shall be strong.'"

The sound of a pen scratching furiously against paper as someone takes notes is all that can be heard as Billy leans back in his chair, pausing for breath. He seems to look at each member of the pack, eyes lingering on his son for a moment longer than the rest.

"Soon came the Quileute's first great Spirit Chief — Kaheleha," he continues. "The title passed from generation to generation until it passed to Taha Aki, a peaceful man known for his wisdom. The people lived well and content in his care."

Billy turns back to the circle, to those hanging on his every word. "But there was one man who was not content. Utlapa," he says, and a low hiss runs around the fire. They all know the next part of this story, just as they know its end.

Between her legs, Jacob ever so slightly tips his head back against her hands which have begun carding through his hair, leaning into the pressure. She doesn't know when exactly she started doing it, only that she's suddenly realised she is, but she can't bring herself to stop.

After countless minutes of this, of all but staring in wonder as Jacob seems to sink further and further into her with every touch, Embry gives her a gentle nudge, jolting her back to the present.

Leah looks to find him smiling down at her. She is by no means short — she is nearly five foot nine — and he and Quil are not as tall as Jacob, perhaps an inch or two shorter than his six foot seven, but still she feels like a child sitting between them. No wonder their instincts seem to revolve around protecting everyone else in sight, being so ridiculously huge. Sometimes it's still difficult for her to reconcile them with the men they have become, especially when she still remembers their baby faces.

She raises an eyebrow at Embry, her hands still working their way through Jacob's unruly hair as his father speaks.

 _What?_ she silently asks, barely remembering that she is supposed to be angry with him. She actually feels . . . almost calm, in truth. Calmer than she has been all afternoon, so long as she manages to keep her focus elsewhere. She hasn't thought of the eyes on the other side of the fire for nearly five whole minutes — a real achievement.

"Sorry," Embry mouths, throwing a barely perceptible nod at the back of Jacob's head. Then he grins his best toothy grin and squeezes her shoulders, his arm still around her, all but batting his eyelashes.

"Shh," Leah mouths back, though she is fighting her own smile as she turns back to Billy who is almost at the end of Taha Aki's story now. She has barely heard a word of it.

She watches as Billy straightens in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.

"From that point on," the man says, "Taha Aki was more than either wolf or man. They called him Taha Aki the Great Wolf, or Taha Aki the Spirit Man. He led the tribe for many, many years, for he did not age. When danger threatened, he would resume his wolf-self to fight or frighten the enemy. The people dwelt in peace. Taha Aki fathered many sons, and some of these found that, after they had reached the age of manhood, they, too, could transform into wolves. The wolves were all different, because they were spirit wolves and reflected the man they were inside.

"Some of the sons became warriors with Taha Aki, and they no longer aged. Others, who did not like the transformation, refused to join the pack of wolf-men. These began to age again, and the tribe discovered that the wolf-men could grow old like anyone else if they gave up their spirit wolves. Taha Aki had lived the span of three old men's lives. He had married a third wife after the deaths of the first two, and found in her his true spirit wife."

Billy looks at her; she looks at him. The smile on his face turns beatific, and the firelight reflected on his face makes him seem years and years younger.

"And though he had loved the others," he adds, watching her still — watching her and his son with what she recognises as pride in those old, tired eyes, "this was something else. He decided to give up his spirit wolf so that he would die when she did."

Leah sucks in a breath, realising for the first time that the third wife was an imprint. It seems glaringly obvious, of course, now that she has heard the story again — a story she has heard countless times before throughout her childhood but now has different meaning to her entirely.

Billy nods — to her or himself, she can't tell — and turns back to the group.

"That is how the magic came to us," he says with an air of finality, shifting in his chair to look at Quil's grandfather beside him, "but it is not the end of the story . . ."

Old Quil wastes no time in launching into the next tale, a seamless transition between the two men, but Leah pays his words even less attention than she did most of Billy's.

Imprint. Spirit wife.

She doesn't think it is any coincidence that that story was chosen tonight, and she wonders briefly if it is the same introduction Emily and Kim received on their first official bonfire, too. Wonders what Jacob makes of it, now that he has a different perspective.

He's heavy against her legs. She would have thought that he was asleep except for the way he occasionally turns his nose into the inside of her thigh, breathing deep and humming quietly when she scratches her nails against his scalp. He's no better than a house cat. Dog.

She almost laughs at herself for the bad joke. Still, she knows he'll get a kick out of it when she undoubtedly shares it with him later.

As if to experiment, she digs her fingers deeper, applying a little more pressure. And Jacob — he practically purrs underneath his breath, his head lolling to the side.

It's fascinating, how he responds. And she can't help but spend the rest of the meeting like that, utterly, entirely absorbed by him. She probably wouldn't have been aware the whole thing had ended if not for Embry's arm retreating from her shoulders.

He stands up, stretching wide with a groan that quickly morphs into a wide yawn, loud and fairly exaggerated. "Almost fell asleep on you there, _chiquita_. You're warmer than that fire."

She sighs. "Still sticking with the Spanish, then?"

"He probably doesn't even know it's Spanish," Quil utters, rubbing a rough hand over his face as if greatly pained by his friend. "I'd wager he got it from that song — his mom likes the old stuff."

Leah barks a laugh, startling even herself, because Quil is not far wrong. The rendition she had been given her on her doorstep had been nothing short of appalling.

Around them, other conversations have started too, low but casual. Jacob, meanwhile, is still on the ground, and she carefully leans forward to peer down at his face so as not to jostle him in case he's finally given in to his exhaustion. She feels it, too.

Sure enough, his eyes are closed.

"Is he asleep?" Quil asks.

"I'm not waking him up," Embry says, stepping backwards. "He'll deck me again."

"You'd deserve it," Leah tells him with the utmost sincerity, and he sticks his tongue out at her. It's like he already knows that she's forgiven him, even if she hasn't necessarily decided as much quite yet.

Asshole.

She is smiling, shaking her head at him (because, _fine,_ she has forgiven him), as Jake begins to stirs at her feet.

"I'm awake," he grumbles. "I think that was the longest one yet. What time is it?"

"S'not like you listened to a word of it anyway," Embry scoffs. "Were you snoring, or was that _purring_ I heard?"

Quil is quick on the uptake, his own grin forming. "Definitely purring."

"I'm getting up in about three seconds," Jacob says against her leg, voice even, almost contemplative, though he makes no effort to move. Her hands are still buried in his thick hair. "So if I were the two of you, I'd start running now."

Leah looks at Embry, her smirk something sinister. "One."

"Two," Jacob says, and he chortles when his friends bolt away before another word can be said. "Works every time."

"Are they always like that?" she asks as the boys decide to make an unannounced beeline for Seth, their arms raised as if about to tackle her not-so-little baby brother to the ground. Laughing with him. Playing.

"Pretty much," Jake answers, the same fondness in his voice as hers before he hauls himself to his feet and comes to sit beside her. He straddles the bench, legs braced either side of it, of her, and automatically reaches out to wrap her up with a type of ease they're already both familiar with.

Leah leans into him, watching her brother now brawling playfully on the ground out of the corner of her eye with Quil and Embry. They look young. Really young — the age they ought to be, if the world was normal. Even Seth seems to have regained the youth he's lost in recent weeks.

"They're idiots," Jacob says, chuckling against her hair as Jared peels himself away from his Kim to join in, levelling up the playing field in Seth's favour, "but you'll get used to it."

She likes the sound of that. Thinks that it doesn't sound that bad at all, having those two boys around.

"They're practically family," Jacob carries on, as if it's an explanation. "So you don't really have much of a choice about that part, to be honest."

"They _are_ family. Quil's your cousin."

"Yeah." He turns wistful. "And Embry . . . he's as good as, I guess. He more like a brother, though. Sometimes I feel like we're closer, me and him, y'know?"

Leah nods, and dares ask, "Would it be so bad if he was?"

Jacob stiffens against her, surprised. "He told you about that?"

"That's what the weird handshake was about," she tells him quietly.

"Right. For your secret club." He edges himself impossibly nearer as if it might make her more inclined to share, all but nosing at her cheek. "So are you going to tell me what that's about now?" he asks. "And when exactly you and Embry had the time to figure it all out?"

She feels her lips twitch in spite of herself. "Jealous?"

He hides his face against her shoulder, arms tightening, and she can hear the effort it takes to keep his tone even as he says, "You seem friendly."

"He'd told me about . . . _you-know-what_. And he was upset, and I wanted to cheer him up . . . I said we could start a club, me, him and Quil," she says, shrugging. "Dead Dads and Absent Fathers Anonymous. Granted, it's a bit of a mouthful, but it's the first thing I could come up with. He seemed to like it though." She shrugs again. "So that's what we are now."

Jacob pulls back and looks at her so closely that he's nearly cross-eyed — so closely that she can see realisation dawn on his face when he finds her own remarkably free of the sadness people have come to expect whenever she so much as alludes to her father.

"Dead Dads and . . . What?"

"Absent Fathers." Her voice is surprisingly steady despite the sadness she feels but does not let him see. "Anonymous."

When Jacob doesn't stop staring, Leah looks right back at him with an arched eyebrow. "What?"

"You're dark," he says as if this has just occurred to him. "Like really, really dark."

Leah smiles, slightly cheered by the words she considers to be a compliment. "Embry said the same thing. He also said the handshake would annoy you, so that's why we did it."

"Dark," Jacob says again with a tiny grunt, "and _mean_."

"Quil said that, too," she tells him happily, and laughs when he drops his head to groan against her shoulder.

"I might have to disown them." Grumbling, he pulls her back flush against his chest and presses his face into her neck. Possessively. Part of her positively thrums in response, and she knows exactly what part that is but cannot find it within herself to argue with it. "Anyone would think you're _their_ imprint."

"Too bad for them," she replies, not sounding at all sympathetic. She's perfectly fine with how things are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Heavy use of direct lines lifts from Eclipse (because it was important to the story — I make no claims of originality) and also from The Origin of the Tribes story, the latter of which can be found with a quick Google search.
> 
> A/N: The bonfire was turning into this huge thing of fluff (surprise — it's me) so I have split it into two parts and am aiming to get the next bit out as soon as. It just needs a bit of fine-tuning first (and work is kicking my butt big time). I could literally write about Leah spending time with these three all day.
> 
> On a side note, I re-read Meyer's "retelling" of the Quileute stories in Eclipse ahead of writing this part and decided to stamp all over her stupidness. Can you tell? Honestly. It's like the woman just chose to ignore her research — if she did any at all, and I'm kind of inclined to believe that she didn't. I think she sucks. I can't even tell you how much. The pack had so much potential and just . . . eugh. I will never be able to read or write enough fix-it FanFiction to be satisfied.
> 
> Anyway. Fun fact time! This story currently totals over 100,000 words, the most I have ever written for a single fic. In comparison, Google says Eclipse is 148,971 words long, averaging about 5,300-ish words a chapter (Breaking Dawn is nearly four times as long) and yet I still have most of its major plot points to cover . . . ha. What have I done to myself?
> 
> My notes seem to get longer and longer every time despite my belly-aching about them, but I just have to keep telling you how awesome you all are. Truly, the best people I have found in any fandom I've ever dipped my toes into (though I think we can say I am submerged in this one) and I will never be able to thank you enough. But I'll say it again anyway: thank you!


End file.
